from STEREOGRAMS
Palmsweat rests lightly
on my shoulder. I know
when to talk, when to dig.
To rip from the roots, dusk
flowers. Lick the petals.
Spit be my glue. Color
the sound doves make.
I’m building a boat
the air can sail. I’m
lying in the cold
air with dark bits
of someone’s
year beneath
my nails.
Ari Wolff’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Potluck, The Offing, Whiskey Island, and Storm Cellar. She lives in Brooklyn, where she teaches art and preschool.
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