Kristin in the Light Café
I match my handlebar to your handlebar our tires
riot up forsythia pussy willow luscious mud
sprays our vernal wakes the lake ice booms the buds thrum
so green and full the insides of things too
the desire in the boys’ eyes the intent in the exact cobalts
and fleeces of their shirts which are only shirts which we know
yet gardens glimmer anyway you dance with me you
thunder with me a storm of leaps of flight on the pier on the lake
in the everything silver moon glow glittering fish flee to far lilac coves
owls scold you laugh me up from gravity breathless
you whose brain excised exquisite awaits a microscope
catalpa seeds fly now my night helicopter churns the leaden water now
and you meet me at a table in the light café
you meet me where crystal fans spin prisms into filigreed mirrors
apricot prosecco fizzes before you and your arms of peace
embrace me in the always Just-spring air
Elizabeth Kuelbs writes at the edge of a Los Angeles canyon. Her work appears in Psalms of Cinder & Silt, Poets Reading the News, The Timberline Review and elsewhere. She holds an MFA from Vermont College of Fine Arts and is the author of the poetry chapbook Little Victory (2021).
Amethyst Review 