Echelon by Lana Bella

You move above the world into
a wet landscape, where light
throbs like opaque blood and
currents flee the low distant
echelon. Harefooted on the old
refrains through an ice-crest
air, you split and become thirsty,
like fish straining for oxygen
out of water. The moon climbs,
and with it, large pockets of
birds toss in the teeth of cold,
purging gray and ivory against
rocky slopes and mesquite pods;
plumage spire your doll-sized
stand in pleats of vulnerability.
Soft now, you come up in which
your feet leap a blossom stem
onto a dusk you’ve been before,
pendulous, hands flowing sleeves
and eyes learning your limit at
the end of crosswinds, like an
airborne voyeur gives flinches to
nocturnes, wrinkles away the earth.

 

 

A three-time Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, & Bettering American Poetry nominee, Lana Bella is an author of three chapbooks, Under My Dark (Crisis Chronicles Press, 2016), Adagio (Finishing Line Press, 2016), and Dear Suki: Letters (Platypus 2412 Mini Chapbook Series, 2016), has had poetry and fiction featured with over 400 journals, Acentos Review, Comstock Review, Expound, EVENT, Ilanot Review, Notre Dame Review, among others, and work to appear in Aeolian Harp Anthology, Volume 3. Lana resides in the US and the coastal town of Nha Trang, Vietnam, where she is a mom of two far-too-clever-frolicsome imps.

No Comments Yet

Comments are closed