In the movement toward disappearance, She is pulled by an undertow of ecstasy. She wakes in a room where she never fell asleep. A thousand starlings leaf-out a bare tree. She wakes in a dusky, tenebrous zone. Evening on the ridges and in the mountains, But light still spills on the valley floor. What transport brought her here? The shape of gravity embodies a pear on the table. Here time is the only sovereign. She is like an arrow slipped from its quiver.
Copyright © 2010 by Eric Pankey. Used with permission of the author.