Berth Of Blue

Sun the husband. August, strong.
All Leo long he's shone this way. Consequently
Earth is thirsty‑ arid, unattractive. In‑
side another wife is standing, mulling at the sink.
She turns the water on whenever she wants.
Wash, to rinse, and drink. Her neck and temples
dewy where the seeds of sweat collect.
She lets her memory loose, and pool,
go simple as a fish‑ whose days abate
in monosyllables: swim,
feed,
hide. The kitchen window wall‑eyed.
She views her duplicate visage in the green
beyond the glass, framed by arborvitae,
apple, sumach.
Birds there know a few new tunes
they learned from flying skyward,
where hierarchies
sing in berths of blue.

Elana Wolff