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Ghost of the Eye
Tonight, flying home at dusk, among
a bevy of souls in this long bullet
bucking the jet stream, we pass through soft
pink-lavender sunset. I turn my head quickly
to the right, and catch for a second
the long remaining tail of yellow light
left over from the flare inside my eye last year.

Oh, life, carry us through our flashes
           of astonishment without harm—

Hurtling across firmament, faith stretched
across fabric of space, we enter a gray mist
so like a thin specter, a certain coolness
comes to the skin, to the mood, but then,
I see that old companion : brown shadow 
in the left periphery, sometimes a small brown dog
lifting onto its hind feet, pawing the air,
now, a long languid cloud promising rain.


Blue Moon

You were the happy one with curls,
an easy giggle the rest of us envied,
pride of our pack of siblings.
Sister, why did you go away?
Before your voice went missing,
your smile drew us into a green park.
Our braided laughter climbed the sycamores,
drifted across lazy afternoons.
Today, inside me, only a white circle
is left from your busy erasing.
Here, at the hot end of summer,
the molting jays and tanagers
crack and nibble hard seeds while we wait
for autumn’s cool relief. Tomorrow
is the second full moon this month.
I wonder if the birds will lift toward it,
or will they keep concealed under the hedges,
continue this long diminishment?


Roselyn Elliott is the author of three poetry chapbooks: The Separation of Kin ( Blueline-SUNY Potsdam 2006 ), At the Center (Finishing Line Press 2008), and Animals Usher Us to Grace (Finishing Line Press 2011). Her essays and poems have appeared in ABRAXAS, diode, Harpur Palate, The Florida Review, New Letters, Blueline, Hospital Drive, Streetlight, and other publications. A Pushcart nominee, she has taught at Virginia Commonwealth University, The Visual Art Center of Richmond, Piedmont Virginia Community College, and WriterHouse.