Published in Issue 27
August 2000 of
Duct Tape Press
FINGER
It happens in the
sweaty dreams of summer
the lake shines
with its inky light
we stand together
our ankles wet
feeling the sleepy
stillness along the bank
when out of the sky
a bird swoops down -
its breast, burnt
orange, a raw
finger in its beak.
©Tasha
