poems by Rena J. Mosteirin

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Tuesday, July 5, 2016

Grass, Leaves, Salt, Mud


Each day we are one less day
until the year wins and we begin

like the blackbird with the red arm band
in a high polish of rain,

we miss the night, the nest,
the taproot drinking from the past,

we soar over cows in the mountains
as bears take the pasture

fox for the chickens
all listening to the language of waning light:

happiness the electricity
that keeps us alive in the snow and the stick

of a Hawaiian punch flavored lollypop
wilts paper between my teeth, each night

we take double electricity,
until the moon wins, seasons the prize

each with a distinct stain: grass,
leaves, salt, mud.


for Michele