Vox Populi

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Leonore Wilson: Adder

Little duende of pith and phlegm

in the emery winds

rustling like mountain shadows

through water,

leaving your eggshell cavities


while the ground below

turns to dust and the air blooms

with smoke;

whose earth is it,


lonely disciple —

what exegesis of the heart

did you prophesize;

what blood red catacombs

above our heads

when the heavens


Why is love so insistent

so urgent, why am I called,

from numbness

to knowing;

veil, hood, mask

I have nothing to protect me;


the fire came,

the decadent flames

slowly inched forward 

like an infant crawling feet first

down a steep flight

of stairs;

is this how my novella ends--

some elderly new future

against the black particles

as if they were wafers of glass

from the body of Christ;

how do I disentangle

myself from lightning,

the last dashed


Copyright 2021 Leonora Wilson

Leonore Wilson lives in Napa, California. Her work has appeared in many periodicals, including Quarterly West, Iowa Review and Terrain.org.


Vipera berus (wikimedia) 

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This entry was posted on October 27, 2021 by in Environmentalism, Poetry, spirituality and tagged , , , .

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