The Poetry Marathon

(an ovillejo) 

I cannot see these blues.
Do you?
The sky’s an empty sea.
See me
with all that I hold dear
sitting here?
A truth I must hold near:
My light still shines,
but you may be blind.

Do you see me sitting here?

stun the world by fire
soft empire
hard space

some linear war of flame
& a sinister fortress
of clouds

(a tanka)

she breathes best unspooled,
syllables spilled silver soft.
bait her with a phrase,
line cast out long and ready
into wordpools filled with stones.

(a shadorma)

Be honest:
‘good morning’ has teeth,
fraught with fear
-some treasure.
Is land so far? After (h)ours,
soft moonlight spills free.
 

Forsaking lungs, she
flows, knows only her own salt.
The moon pulls her safe.