A new clue to explain existence by Bethany Carlson.

Harpoon of my heart, frighten

me with your pathology of prisms,

your coarse arithmetic of shale.

Count the number of beats per glittered

minute, the age-old orb of the sunset’s

progress, arc & throb. One day I’ll plant

rows of silvered trees in your memory,

press my ear to your canticled ivy,

your rooms of breathed-in air.

You say the body is made up of thousands

of tiny gardens, each with a mother & father

shirring the sun. When you lower your gaze

to the clear tributary of want,

beware, oh cocoon of tiny silences,

see what love has been designed. See

what lowly dread the heart is capable.

Bethany Carlson is currently studying poetry in Indiana University’s MFA program. She has been published in Memorious, Washington Square Review, Cream City Review, Bellingham Review, Night Train, Diagram, Drunken Boat, Ruminate, Juked, Boxcar Poetry Review, among others.

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