Issue 130

We come into dusk
on roads narrowed by briar,
dewberries firing red
and purple musk in heat.

We come into dusk
on roads narrowed by briar,
dewberries firing red
and purple musk in heat.

We come into dusk
on roads narrowed by briar,
dewberries firing red
and purple musk in heat.

There at the petal’s edge a hint of decay encroaches upon the timeless stillness of the still life. The sunflower, seed-heavy, hangs its head. As if to fix the flux: a distant bell about to be rung.