is an online magazine of the literary arts.

2 September 2004 | Vol. 4, No. 3

Passing Remark

I saw your mouth trailing off except one small leaf.

Scale, nuance & concentration as sufficient

as an ant, a long moan running down the bark

of a tree. You stood in my line of sight, so still you were

there, shifting like glass & its particulars, a seagull

creaking. I have doubts whether such things can be

dedicated. Your wrist of paper scraps in sunshine,

branches arriving like anthems. You demonstrated

cunning. You walked out of the frame.

You came close to me. You went away.

We were pulled closer in absence.

Everything turned into something else.

My arms in the rupture of air, a slope

of bone. I saw you take for granted the broken

branch, how you were almost nothing.

Strange tree. Ungainly love.

Then a wave was dragging something back

into the green sea. A remnant flock

of robins suddenly above. They didn't touch

down, you know, they took everything

with them.

About the author:

Juliet Patterson's poems have appeared in Verse, Conduit, The Journal, DIAGRAM, and other publications. She lives in Minneapolis. Her favorite color is red. You can reach her at .



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