---

so green is the leaf
clinging steadfast
to its branch
it defies classification
even by the wind
that wishes only
to call it sail

I have known wasps rail
and sting
merely because
I happened across
their flight paths

the sea does not cease
for me on anyone—
immortal heart
even though I can’t
breathe

can’t ease the bullet
from its chamber

a sane sky defines itself
by bird or flock
unseen moon
or stars hidden
in the clouds’ dark hair

fear is like swallowing
one’s own saliva
which cannot be
avoided

mud is the dream
of water

fish never argue
with streams

god is the dream
of Mayflies

who says yes with their eyes
says everyone

Beethoven composed
even after he went deaf
the music in his head
like the soul’s bells
which cannot be un-rung

no is the tongue’s way
to enlightenment

the sight of a sad dog
closes my throat

hope is the thing with thorns
that pricks your thumbs
the trick is to remain numb
be the ultimate magician

if it is wrong to miss you
pass me some strong perfume

the room is bare
of your hat

I half forget there will be an after
after this

before was when kiss
was relief

how if I were painting grief
I would lean on yellow

---

Lana Hechtman Ayers, night owl, coffee enthusiast, and stargazer, has authored nine poetry collections and a time-travel novel. She manages three small presses and works as a manuscript consultant. Lana lives on the Oregon coast where she enjoys the near constant plunk of rain on the roof and the sea’s steady whoosh. Visit her online at http://LanaAyers.com.

Show Lana some love via PayPal at Lana.Ayers(at)gmail(dot)com.