Voices

we crossed

and in search of the sun

we found migratory birds

heavy in each other’s limbs

held our eggs like memories 

painted our shells a displaced blue

we threw our songs like skimming stones

watched our feathers circle in the tannins

until darks’ dusk clipped our souls

and looking back at our fallen nest

was the only thing left to do

Leyla Iten

mango

of thought

three held in offering

falling on the bench

like three words

                                                  salts

                                                  bruise my hunger

                                                  ask me to notice

                                                  the single plate

                                                  we draw our answers from

grape

let us soften

our shells

so sweet hard decay

may ferment our memories

clay

instincts bare

breathe the dusk 

from our feet fall impressions

we choose no words for

let

embryos in the light

re-imagine themselves

with tongues to tune 

our inner

limbs

in belief

paint each other

in a song

of embrace

rain

we step naked

into the belly of our dance

we hold

our selves

and

gone

I am a soft bellied animal

   I try to be something else

 in green flight 

my fruit falls fallen 

Leyla Iten