Not Alone

by Alan Britt

A black stone floats in the two lovers’ lips
I am not at all alone today
the grass leaning against a stone
a grackle wanders among tobacco colored leaves
the sound of a river pulling boats
In the distance
someone is unbuckling a grey head
but the lovers are persuing
the mountain in the fingertips

 

Alan Britt is part of the Immanentist group, which, he asserts, is different from the Surrealists. (Fall 1974)