a constellation of hopping hillocks
jetting round with buds
unveiled a prayer—

like an ineffable effusion of fir trees

the scent of a holy breath
sown among the hours

each murmuring at the moon
through honeycombed branches
of leaf-locked lights
caught in a glance

or washed whisps pallid and
peeled—the river in scratches

through her reflection
paled by the night clouds,
glossed in the final horizon ray

a special fragment knit by aspiring lips.


Atalie Young ’05 is an English and American Literature and Language concentrator in Quincy House.

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