Oyster Boy Review 21  
  Poetry Annual 2014
 
 
 
 
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Poetry


One Night, Mercurial

Kathleen Hellen


The pigment of the sun was coming up,
carroting the sky and patio,

a bowl a mirror a divining:
Would I?

Drunk. The bond between us, weak.
The consequences like a tomb
of poisoned pharaohs—I was weighing

trickeries, the thievery of luck
when something struck. Low
boiling, volted—

then the noble, liquid way
he reached to undertake me.

. . .