March 2024

Back to Issue 15

fingers blood-red

By Carl Walsh


taste darkened flesh where air circles sunlight 

clatter of key in lock shattering 

         sleepers in warm fold of old beds 


wet shoes in wash of grass and weeds that soak 

sonorous morning cast 



we awoke to dreams of blackberries 

stravaiging thicket catching dawn light 

         on dew-drop and thorn