Mudlark No. 46 (2012)

Sometimes in Autumn

when the wind rises from the north and sweeps
into the clean cold dark behind my eyes

the roots I held to just a moment before
buckle up, leaving me no other choice but to curl

up between their rough ugly toes
and fall asleep there, as if

I were a ghost-shape
leaf-bones waiting for winter’s kiss

Susan Kelly-DeWitt | Mandelstam in the Transit Camp 
Contents | Mudlark No. 46 (2012)