after Water Tree, photograph by Moises Levy
Glass expanse of lake, unrippled, stretches to edge
of world, meets cloud-kissed sky.
Reflection is born.
When two unmeasurable depths echo, empty
becomes tangible. Wind holds its disruptive breath
as death’s finger falls. Crippled bark, breaks,
throws final tendrils of green into focus. Lone crack,
lightning, to frame the scene.
A Forest of Words
haunts me. I am lost
inside their density, cannot see
a path through brambles and branches.
Briars cling, hold me
with fragile barbs. I pluck them off
only to find them re-attached
at another end. I am their prisoner,
writing my own cell, dipping my pen
in an inking river I have never seen,
but know flows backwards and uphill,
hoping I will follow. I am ill-
equipped to traverse such treacherous
angles. I turn leaves into wings, fly
for a moment before realizing
foliage is just as flammable
as mythical wax.
Between Rocks Pretending to Be Cliffs
The crevice was consumed by shadows,
echoing the negative
reflection of the blazing mid-day sun.
Heat burning the back
of my skin fought against my fear to move
downward into this miniature abyss.
Arms shaking, I pressed myself
inside these stone lips, felt them smile
as I disappeared into the gray of temporary
maw. Strange, how easy I found it
to breathe in so much dark.
A.J. Huffman has published eleven solo chapbooks and one joint chapbook through various small presses. Her new full-length poetry collection, Another Blood Jet, is now available from Eldritch Press. She has another full-length poetry collection, A Few Bullets Short of Home, scheduled for release in Summer 2015, from mgv2>publishing. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee, and has published over 2000 poems in various national and international journals, including Labletter, The James Dickey Review, Bone Orchard, EgoPHobia, and Kritya. She is also the founding editor of Kind of a Hurricane Press. www.kindofahurricanepress.com
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