Sometimes, by mere effect,
you turn and fall through
a sieve of various portholes.
You can pour over the seer
along the snappy beats of
a saltarello, flogged into
gorse on spruce whisky.
And through the split of skin
budding warm is the sum
of your parts, jolts the slim
air with harvest grown under
you, where all that knowing
of neither dark nor light is
but a fretwork of sinews
seeded in swarms of birds.
Then your hands bloom spike
from the East Wind Drift,
sceptering the skeletons
of trees with drought and rain,
hostile as the sky is vastest
across a stillborn world, like
the weight of your being forms
for dissolving, retelling the story
of how nothing, ever stays.
you turn and fall through
a sieve of various portholes.
You can pour over the seer
along the snappy beats of
a saltarello, flogged into
gorse on spruce whisky.
And through the split of skin
budding warm is the sum
of your parts, jolts the slim
air with harvest grown under
you, where all that knowing
of neither dark nor light is
but a fretwork of sinews
seeded in swarms of birds.
Then your hands bloom spike
from the East Wind Drift,
sceptering the skeletons
of trees with drought and rain,
hostile as the sky is vastest
across a stillborn world, like
the weight of your being forms
for dissolving, retelling the story
of how nothing, ever stays.
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.