Today's poem is by Jaswinder Bolina


In sun the sunburned skin sloughs off the sunburned shoulder.
Most folks believe this is the body's slow mend.

Most folks believe in the good yolk of the soul.

I believe in autopsy lingo of natural causes should be replaced
with of long-term exposure to the dim, unwavering radiation of the morning star.

The evening they burn your body,
I step into the garden and arrange a crooked line of birdbaths to skip stones across

until a bell tower tolls its eight arguments against daylight
and the skyline illuminates, ragged and unmended

like a poem turned on its side.

The evening they burn your body,
I believe I'll step into the living room and be greeted by you

or by someone who could play you in a movie.

The curtains are an aurora of earthly proportion.
You don't exist.

A flash igniting the paned glass is the silent lightning outrunning its noise.
You're on fire.

Copyright © 2013 Jaswinder Bolina All rights reserved
from Phantom Camera
New Issues Poetry & Prose
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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