Zero
       

Papercut contracts the whole world
to its sting. A stubbed toe to its throb.
Oh beautiful contusion, is it wrong
to love your annihilation
of everything but you?
This valley like a thumbprint
in bruised mountains.
This bruising like a flower
of attention. Out in the field,
a starling blurred to an idea
of feather and blood. Ribbonsnake
a mere suggestion. What I'm trying to say
is I have lost the riveting.

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Copyright © 2017 Melissa Stein All rights reserved
from The Literary Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission