print previewback LISA RUSS SPAAR
The Wind Wears a
Red Leaf
4 October 2014
Catherine wheels, star-pox, wedding gem,
Libra’s fulcrum & scoured pans,
pyrotechnics hid by rain drilling the night
I woke & woke in another room,
hands sour with urine from your last changing.
Did it move in the brain, what ranges
incarnate, then departs, Dementia the cat
astray at the ankles, then at the door,
vapor spark-rocket, Bede’s brief sparrow,
branch from Newton’s apple tree
eons away, satellite space station
allowed at last to cross the heavens
plural and jealous, lo these years?
Mother-May-I? Or does it travel
to frozen north, alcoholic,
collapse in slippage, mortal aorta,
where coats are turning inside out
& can’t admit or fathom spirit?
Blue torch of your birth name, Kay—
Where is it now that you are sky? 
Accidental
Two Weeks
The Wind Wears a
Red Leaf