Tag Archives: Lisa Alletson

Weather crackles across the willows— a bride in green with weeping hair Guests arrive, lemons and cuckoos baby trees with limbs barely there Blue gums forfeit a debut dance The groom falls ill in a fever tree A matriarch of … Continue reading →

We dance down the limbs of Parisian streets into the fountain-night. Shimmy ourselves across cobblestone-gray giggling “husband” and “wife.” Pigeons peck in, to gnaw on our feet, eating our toes like crumbs. Red umbrellas on empty patios sway in a … Continue reading →

Cold air isolates an ambulance siren, shattering the corduroy silence. In the forest, a fox cub coughs its first breath. I can know these things, but I cannot know you. You, the blue that escapes when a glacier rolls. A … Continue reading →

raven oceans             wave over wave             caress anemones men cease ascension across eons             venus erases moons             sun-wars raze macrocosms were we weavers or carvers   once             cure-summoners             or coarse sons now   raven oceans             cover our sermons             our vacuous crowns Lisa Alletson grew up in South Africa and … Continue reading →