By Josh Bauer

Bright light behind your eyes

finally, her skin after wandering

under that mountain you mine

where the flame is constant blue—


I cannot say it­­—

That portrait’s walk snaps like a beak

but her hair, it waltzes better than a dress.

Some divinity there must be­


though her name is delicate to pronounce

and she laughs gently when you get it

wrong.  It falls out of your American mouth

like a gentle curse said in pleasure.


Her body, a neon waxing crescent,

hot, compact fruit, not quite an apple

she falls into your snake jaws and

convinces you of reincarnation.


Your other poems,

under the delicate vibrations

of her heart

shake like fine china on California oak.


Josh Bauer received his M.F.A from Portland State University. His most recent publications have been in The Broken Plate and Green Mountains Review.

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