Tonight, if the fog does not rise
out of the nodes
——————-of the trees
if it spills
through the rootbound paths

if it spreads
——————-through the rhizal net

I will hollow myself like bird’s wing

———————–—-if it aches
in my limbs
——————-of frost

I will ask a new question and walk

slowly over the furrows
of clay and broken corn

———————–—-my ankles
turning, growing light

—-—-I will open the top
of my head

——————-I will hollow
myself like a sukkah
———————–—-I need

a blessing and I am not blessed.

 

 

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Alix Anne Shaw is the author of three poetry collections: Rough Ground (Etruscan), Dido in Winter, and Undertow (both from Persea). Her work has appeared in journals including Harvard Review, Black Warrior Review, Denver Quarterly, and Fence. www.alixanneshaw.com