Olive Pool, an excerpt

Where will you appear, my mother? As your mother found her way silver

into a ghost silhouette after her death behind you in the wintry trees

I think perhaps I’ll recognize you not as turquoise as expected

but pooling olive as a Southwestern hill slip cover

Not Fremont Ellis landscape with rain but mobile by Calder

gentle kinetic Texas wind vane

A hard working literary history yours tied in bundles like Emily’s letters

to an anonymous lover

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