Issue 8 | Winter 2011


Very quickly there is the sensation
of nothing underfoot, and the realization
begins, and then there is the fear that floods
the body as quick as rain in the river drives
past the river’s banks: trunk and limbs
can hardly contain it, until the sudden
meeting, less than a minute later, of arm,
back, butt, leg, and the hard ground, a broken
branch lashing out at the final swing of head
and neck. And then there is so much time
to feel the waters recede: the sun has come out,
and although the body has sunk in itself,
it also rights itself against the familiarity
of roots and rocks and the geometry of dirt.

Filed under: Poetry