by Ariane Blackman
I feel as water
ghost slivers of fish
gliding just under my skin
I am cloak, misty vapour
floating over green spume
as nothing in this fog
distilled down to a point
wanting to take off
gulls shrieking in my air
cradle songs I almost own –
breath in, breath out
beset by this wild, dream dying
wide awake at last
— from Juniper Volume 2, Issue 3