Poetry Issue 8

   Issue # 8: July - December 2007

Jose Perez Beduya


      Awake in mortal beds
      We look up

      Who made the risen moon
      So cold and clean up there

      The piece of wall paler
      Where the oval portrait was

      We will live downstairs
      From the lush garden unreached
      By the wind’s long teeth

      On the hills the ruins soon to be lit

      A force already moving
      The disembodied feet of leaves

      Brushing the boy’s arm away
      From the windowsill

      Tomorrow it says and then Today

      Slowing the flicker in the eyelid.