Poetry, Vol. 7.2, June 2013
And someday we will remember that, after all,
they were two surges from the same tide:
brother and sister, bull and girl, allies
untangling labyrinth-shaped childhoods.
They have waited and will wait again (his human hand
memorizing empty walls, doors without locks, stairs
to nowhere; her cadaverous fists clutching at the balcony rail)
for the promise of white sails grown hazy against
the knife of the horizon. Atonement –
– a bronze sword, a dawning sun, the bitterness of blood
staining dark a ball of thread.