Crab Orchard Review, Vol. 15, No. 1

Bruce BondBehind these leaves are holes the shapes of leaves.I hear them crackle in the trees like milk.Still I keep returning to my friendsswallowed up in that surge of fire.Come out, night replies, and so the namescome spilling over in a trickle of jewels.No star is one word I use for all the stars.Come out, says the sky to the planet,says friend to friend, mother to the direthirst that eyes the sister stars of nipples,that puts its mouth to the future and sodraws the great white silk, as if to drainthe lamp that way, to dim the source that isthis cloud, this breast, this small ghost voiceas it darkly whispers, there there, there there.32 u Crab Orchard Review