Poem of the Week

Your

one wing

-ed scapula: what does it mean?

Look out, child, clamber above

the fill line of the world:

if we are indeed part

of a continent and not alone, 

where is everyone?

Our vise of hands

cannot hold counter-

clockwise flight, 

is too confusing for radar:

this carceral island 

will never keep us. 

On an armspan

altar below

I imbue

the homespun

stone with a blue 

animus, 

a fletched offering

wind-ing you up.