By Patrick Kurth


the past is running out with the bath water
lemon skins and laurels surf the pipeline copper
you stand on the shore conceded by this sea
garland round with rosemary
lustrous as our lady, mother of pearl

day daubs your breasts with sun-wrung oil
and the yolk-drop gaze of angels passing by
dawn hunts the dark as stars keep vigil
jag of want heat round pearls of sand
and pink your mantle with petals of dew 

come, let the zephyr kiss your collar dry
come, feel your sheets cool with whispers


Patrick Kurth
PATRICK KURTH writes mostly from the benches of Berlin’s train stations and is learning to use his poetry as a way to encounter newness. He recently earned his first publication credit, in the latest issue of The Watershed Review, with more poems forthcoming in Red Flag Poetry.