Poetry Wednesday

Division of Labor

We go east

At the helm you are

careful, spotting

silverfish,

I

tinkering

in the back with

explosives, tending a great wish

for warmth.

(You burst, and I can smell sunlight.           I ignite

and burn perfectly,

      without a conscience,

                    in one direction)

I am afraid of the wind.

Annnnnnnnnnnnnnd something not-mine that I love:

Third Anniversary
by Sara Guest

What’s lighter than now?

Your shadow close to the lighthouse
the green rocks
the green rocks
the shell
the pink insides
the shell eaten away

thick-fisting sun
agate-mist
how love washes through me
the scrubbing