of a lake bed
dried by stars,
planed smooth
by the moon.
The pen nib
was whittled
from a passing gale,
and the ink
a jar of starlings,
swirling, iridescent
in the glass’s curl.
But folded,
crease over crease,
the note never narrows,
The knife-neat pleating
won’t ease these
vexing edges,
and so the envelope waits --
patient, blameless.
[+]
Kevin Casey is a graduate of the University of Massachusetts,
Amherst, and received his graduate degree at the University
of Connecticut. Recent works have been accepted by Grasslimb,
Frostwriting, Words Dance, Turtle Island Review, decomP, and
others. He currently teaches literature at a small
university in Maine, where he enjoys fishing, snowshoeing
and hiking.
