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FALL/ WINTER 2017

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Terri Muuss

YOUR ABSENCE

They say, Be grateful. True, your hands
roll cinnamon into my skin,
ink ideas into cherry lined

pockets. In your absence, my note
to you will open out
under the lime-green moon.

They say, It’s all conjecture. But, in your
collar-bone, everything is absolute, sincere.
Your return, the bass of your body, I am

compass turned inward:
 walled edge
joy pushed—

Olympic Super Slalom
down
blue lined ice,
rushing
me
downhill.


 

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