There Is

by Renée Ashley

nothing left to worship.
The three-tined sun is on a string.
A chain to hang you on.
A rope to coil when you’re done.

Lately, a sharp-winged bird skims the dusk
dragging the web-footed dark.

Up there down there.

Foreground. Background.
What you can swing from.

The View from the Body

Last updated March 29, 2023