by Michael Fraser
The yacht-blue lake breeze
walks beside us, its voice edging
the face of beaming cars,
there’s so much light, your waving,
blush-red hair, is a poem
of global importance.
Our flow centers the language
of handholds, together we’re
an entire world folded in dialogue,
how we talk the hourglass out of
existence, the way our words braid
into each other, night’s reflection a
symphony in your eyes. I didn’t know
the zing in your lips was October
holding its song in place.
— from Juniper Volume 5, Issue 1