Axis Mundi
Beneath the jacaranda–blue as a breath lost to a kiss, acoustic paint—the light like a muscle lifts my hand, and I’m a child again: in our gymnasium, courting the maypole, polished pine climbed over with crepe—festoon, filet lace, greenery—a hundred plaits in our faithful fists. I wind mine as if tying a rhyme around a […]
Beneath the jacaranda–blue as a breath lost to a kiss, acoustic paint—the light like a muscle lifts my hand, and I’m a child again: in our gymnasium, courting the maypole, polished pine climbed over with crepe—festoon, filet lace, greenery—a hundred plaits in our faithful fists. I wind mine as if tying a rhyme around a