Not a Lizard, Not a Mouse
by Joa Suorez
You may need
some small life
carried loosely
in the mouth
to warble the sounds
trapped in the floorboards
of your house—the hard part
will be hunting one down.
[img via]
Archive for Joa Suorez
Earth Eaters
by Joa Suorez
The earths we lure them with
fit inside
their delicate mouths,
just sized
to sift sand.
We interrupt
great nebulas
they spit
with our universal nets,
no yield yet
but gravity
and celestial dust.
Suggesting a Cloud
by Joa Suorez
Soak the day
until its soft colors
drain and only
an outline
of all we did
remains—a memory
new enough
we still see it
the same—a vague shape
against the sun
that evening
carries away.
[img via]
Heart Swell
by Joa Suorez
We saw the way
you let love in,
the little door
you opened
when the light
began to change—
and night pressed
cool against your face.
When your heart
began to swell
the way the moon will
just before rain
we saw the wide world
in your eyes again,
that wild joy
love sometimes brings.
[img via]
