Nicole Norman
Scenery

The red throats of the dogs
open like twisters over the sharp
hem of beaches. Their sounds
curve through corns stalks

that swing their hints in breezes
and bend as if to touch the tough
crust of soil. Between the snapping

kiss of eyelids you can watch
the sky uncurl like furious lips,
threaten to bite and swallow the tips

of the tamaracks that stand along
the hill. Their shade darkens the quarry's
grey, the once majestic rock
is scarred, discarded like chunks of slag.

There is a sense of certain kismet,
the blend of sand and rain.

<< Back to Issue 6, 2004