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PJ Nights

bullroarer (choka)

I take a photo
of flamboyant trees during
and after the rain
I am that way too subdued
true gray only to
clatter into reds when storms
stop I want to leap
around the first fire playing
nose flute to the base belly

of a bullroarer's
mastery of air clasping
my shoes so I might
jive is why the stone and flower
are renegades is
why you and I pass at sharp
right angles to each
other's light if not for boys
square roots and long division

mathematics parades
the way the world vanishes
after love letters
are delivered wet via
song of salt on rain
I feel you coming my blood
arises your eyes
crackle near me foliage
trapped in chains of the forest

word problems

a blue green bottle fly skips from branch to branch
three times; each twig cradles a dozen drops of dew
refracting the last look you gave her -- oranging

the dark woods call, if four birds answer, how long
will you stay? forgetting forms, her lines have twelve
counts dropping on a female syllable   nipple   |'nipel|

she lives in a brittle house, sleeps in a soft chair
while you take your fill     later, in charcoal echoes
her sun rises with the moon, how long since you’ve

remembered when she smiles? how many waves have
carved the sands of her feet? if tomorrow the cicadas call
thrice, breaking twelve dew dropped webs, how many

circumferences of your heart are wrapped in ivy,
in the berries of her face? born of the same song,
will I ever carry your lyrics, the bandit of your child?

©2008 by PJ Nights

PJ Nights lives in the wild and ravishing state of Maine. She publishes and co-edits the quarterly poetry journal from east to west: bicoastal verse, teaches physics, and stargazes. Her poetry has appeared in journals such as Ocho, Blue Fifth Review, Animus, Wicked Alice, Slow Trains, andwerve, and Centrifugal Eye.

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