Sarah Cozort





There were two Bolshevik women,

and she lay down between them.

One was a pale, supple perovskia atriplicifolia,

the Russian wild flower, and lay strong, unguarded,

solitary as in a remote field.

The other was nothing more than a woman,

but strangely greater than the sum of her woman's parts,

and both were close but unreachable.

Only their breath in the dark, metered, slightly out of tune

as a distant song, was indistinguishable

one from the other and from her own.



(Originally posted October 5, 2008)


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