Blight of moon, corset of pine staves around

from the forth­com­ing book “Mrs. Ro­manov” about the last Tsar and Tsa­rina of Rus­sia.

Prairie Fire - - TABLE OF CONTENTS - LORI CAYER

52

we abide in this ter­ri­ble locked egg of stark work­ings spring has moved into sum­mer, the closed house

a suf­fo­cat­ing teapot, God gone quiet over­head we love dif­fer­ently here

only hands, only on each other’s hearts the ma­chine of our breath­ing pass­ing back and forth

this one only life, ever punc­tu­ated by blood and bleed­ing, our cat­a­strophic his­tory

this house a void through which some hope­ful res­cue may yet still pass

a dim ex­ter­nal life where we imag­ine our­selves on earth, in our thin beau­ti­ful skins

God reap­pear­ing from mem­ory’s ruin step­ping into plain fresh air

and walk­ing some­where our names gone sim­ple on the tongue

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