by Paul Ilechko
Curled and crumbled in upon
as bee stung as lips turning from yellow
beneath the variegated purples that still hold
strong against the summer’s decay
night will force recovery
drinking the dew point as it charges you
your swallowing within the silence
while heads are closed
too remote to be conditioned
by the leather extremities that shade
some other garden the tucking of wings
and mammalian “almost flight”
exploiting as you do the grip
of moisture somewhere beneath the mulch
a thought emerges a seedling tickles
itself into timing and explodes as life.
Paul Ilechko is the author of the chapbooks “Bartok in Winter” (Flutter Press) and “Graph of Life” (Finishing Line Press). His work has appeared in a variety of journals, including Juxtaprose, As It Ought To Be, Cathexis Northwest Press, Inklette and Pithead Chapel. He lives with his partner in Lambertville, NJ.