[Girl with Green Shawl, Moise Kisling, 1919]


–mickey morgan

She leans her feet upon each stone

in beds of moss asleep. This green

mosaic slant attracts her level gaze

and drops it to the floor, to uncut greys.

Veranda steps allow a rise of moss

to cling to its striated stream, a course

whose drift her feet ascend. Her body’s shift,

her cotton shuffle, softened slide (no lift)

combine in gesture, part the sepia screen.

She enters ringed in light. Her shadow bleeds

along the hall, a sedimenting act.

Come, it calls, slide into coolened black

and settle in the dark, this place between

the garden, stone, veranda, bud-like dream.

A window arch cuts through the wall of clay

far down the passage singly lit in sprays

of garden’s bark of almond, orchids, plum.

The breeze seeps to her in a scented hum.

She’s still not past the passage, still before

the garden window, staying in the core

suspended here in netted waiting, mesh

of footfall halted. Only weave of breath


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