Volume 8, August 2013

Christina OlivaresView Contributor’s Note

Coming to Bed

Night’s a sea: of chanced things

like fish, nervy silver
dart in thin light,

like clouds. —siphoning, your form loaded with stars,
magic of failed desire—here—

between your body and the radiator

—limb in, thigh over thigh, so much body
touching body that my body becomes—

dawn creases
lines in the wash of black cold

your toes curled like a
diver’s and stilled, as if broken. A sea