Thread Count


Thread Count



Tumble down

the ocean stairs,

mounting the whales’ trail,

maneuvering depths and distances



Dream in the city at 5 a.m., accustomed

to the speech that comes just before the birds

awake and take away all formation of song.


This doorway, like a driving marked nightmare

cursing your already blooming cloud. Tomorrow

is the same leg-chain to drag behind, the same

shrinking dome to be lived under.


But tonight, I have you like a burning death,

one spot burning, one place in the house, fast

and immediate, wielding shapes

out of tall-far-away trees, from mind spaces,

fresh as newborn fish navigating

coral reefs and seeing which caves to hide in

or seeing what is hiding in –

patient predators.


Tonight, the bath water is ready, rooting

my body to its sensations.

The spell is dissolved, and clarity

becomes gold, a hailstorm of ecstasy, reaping

many more than one plateau, gliding gigantic above

these graves, loud, rudimentary, I have you,

nailing the flame

to both of our sinking thighs.



 © 2018 by Allison Grayhurst



Published in “Outlaw Poetry” June 2018

Thread Count by Allison Grayhurst



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