These pieces both appear in D.B. Jonas’ collection Tarantula Season and Other Poems
Angel
The angel was here, not a moment ago.
All that remains, I’m afraid,
is that jangling jackhammer in the street,
the distant sirens.
You will wait right here all day,
but the angel has always only just departed.
Your lover was here just now.
It’s a wonder you did not see her
on the stair. All that remains
is the scent of almond blossoms in the air,
intimations of the dark cascade, a disappearance
of caraway upon the tongue.
This bitterness is a song without words.
Wreathed in the unremembered melody,
you will sit here all day, unmoving.
From the backs of your hands,
tendrils, tender, pallid as pea-shoots,
reach into the room.
From your palms the thirsty root-hairs
descend into the floor.
Your only job is words
and the vanishing sound
words barely leave behind.
Mnemosyne
Heavily the sturgeon drifts
over the ancient mud, her lazy sway
barely disturbing as she passes
the silted floor that he…
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