Yours was a heart filled
with moonlight and lilies;
with a little bit of ginger;
—and in a rocky corner,
a warty frog
Yours was a smile
easy to coax
all the way to your eyes;
but with a wry downturn;
and bit of mischief
that lingered in your beard.
Yours was a thoughtful gaze,
seeing through impasses
to compromise and harmony;
past unpleasant reality
and inconvenient evidence;
a dreamer’s look.
Yours was a mind
that held minutest detail—
recalling all the cousins’ names;
rattling off obscure facts;
waiting for the rest of us to catch up.
—Katy Brown, Davis
Sailors long for baskets of ripe pears
under faded prayer flags.
On this journey, the ancient gods sail
against the memory of war,
remembering when Helen was young.
The sails of their barques billow
like executioners’ capes
in the shadows of an apricot dusk.
They float on a shattered mirror,
listening to the rhythmic creak
of rigging in the evening wind.
In the company of bones and eels
they measure the longitude and latitude
of isolation and howl under a rusty moon.
The purity of song rings across the sea:
the crimson breath of mermen
curling into the dark.
Tonight, there are too many edges to bypass.
Rocks and monsters mark their path.
Tonight, the sea collects secrets.