August 10, 2010


by Daria Souchkova

There’s a blindness that stings
a sun-encrusted sky. A rooftop,
bloodless, dies. The night
is singing. Plucks a lonely

eye. Shadows are blind.
Whiter white. Down they filter
salt. Whose sound is light. Saccade

on through the million sockets
in the night. Grope on your starry
cavern’s voice…enough!

Where Janus splits, a skyline
sickle rims a blind. Which-
inscribes sight?


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