in the frozen garden
a poem by dre levant
my lily-ghosts
have eyes.
| they stare from the sill |
pretty white eyes | like candles burned too low |
and yellow tongues | snake tongues? | i –
hush, i’m writing letters,
but they crumple before i finish –
dear, dearest, there’s dirt
in the ink, and i’m –
i’m rooted to this,
this wood table
and lace cuffs
smudged
with mud from the garden the garden
the garden – lily-ghosts, please,
| their stems brush my knuckles |
| their tongues lance my neck |
i’m
crumpling in petal
silhouettes | bury my letters
in my | in the |
frozen garden .