by Feral Willcox

In the place of cisterns

swaddled in cobra lilies

spawn of cloud seed heals

the moon of its infected swelling.

A heat dissipates to crystal, gaslit

in the aging night. You were

a slip of a boat set off in a slit

of wild waters, two down

no rudder, no oar. One love

travels in tides, in elliptic swirls

hot to cold, then back again.

The other, a faucet, a cup

a tinseled lake warming

in a metronome of sun.

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Ferral Willcox is a U.S. born poet and musician currently living in Pokhara, Nepal. Ferral’s work can be found in Per Contra, concis, Peacock Journal, Rat’s Ass Review, and elsewhere. Her poetry was featured in the Q-Street venue of the Philadelphia Fringe Festival, and she is a regular contributor to the Plath Poetry Project.