—what they could have pulled
from the still-singing char
        that had burned so fiercely
                it fissured the earth,
        that burned alive
                and hungry—

—what they might
have found of verse in cracked
tablets and blacked papyrus
        left in heaps
                and the mummified mouths of crocodiles

where any thing
in abstraction
                           is sublime:
                           what are
                                   Anactoria's curls,
                                   or the dawny blush of Atthis?

how this is an apple
blossom brushing your cheek

after all we all
                fly with one broken wing
        which just,
                             just keeps
                these bits of dried sound these
ox-plow paths carved in stone aloft

About the Poet

Agatha Beins teaches in the Department of Women's Studies at Texas Woman's University, rides her bicycle around Denton, TX, and spends time volunteering at an amazing local farm. You can find her work in journals such as The Laurel Review, Blackbird, Pebble Lake Review, Newfound, Devil's Lake, Sinister Wisdom, and Women: A Cultural Review.

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