Molly Bashaw

Every Time I Have Never Been Here Before

Dark beans
string their velvet tongues.
A horse eye blinks

through a curtain of mane,
purple the shake of black, black
the shade of sound. Nights

the nightshades undress and sing,
mares whip the air cantering.
The field reveals another node.

 

 

 

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To reach me, please e-mail me at gfboyer [at] outlook [dot] com. Thanks!

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