brume

by Jessica Otto

     after a late-night thunderstorm
call it unseasonably
     the brittle image
slimy this heart
     of the moon hanging
in the water I don’t want
     in an empty skyto think about what is
     redly like a peeled egggrowing what is growing
     underneath: a latticing
slowly rises to the surface
     an encumbered horizon linequiet oil membrane
     tethered with silhouettes lazily churning in my footsteps
     of clinging poppy blossoms
     (clinging redly underneath the brittle image)