the winter anthology
Vol. 6
Keith Jones
from the lucid
upward ladder
Kern.
You went where the young ore was
adrift upon a mercy,
a phenomenon distinctly plaited
like solar light hammered thin.
There is nothing here
gigantic.
Eliminata, mob
-rule.
You,
of grass blade and sun bridge, of midge and mote,
one long molecular beam,
on this island
of print.