Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Forty-one
Summer 2016
Wulf Losee

the custodian of rain
claps his cupped hands

(because hearing is our first and last sense)

he claps three times
echoes in a cavern

            the custodian of rain
            reminds her body-corpse

                        you are dead now

            a spinning leaf
            for her to carry

                        go to the farthest light

            down the river of narrative
            into the gap

there is no source for heat
there is no source for light

(but always there is a nearer and a farther light)

the custodian of rain
steps outside to breathe

About Wulf Losee

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