2nd Place

small girl nearly
swallowed whole by polka-dotted
tutu
steps out of worn
cowboy boots
into swirling
inky sea
of sky

the sea of herself
set loose
drifting in waves
liquid against her edges

ragged charges of tidal wind
captained by moon
tug with practiced ease
unraveling
what she
knows

toying with tulle
launching her wide- and
wild-eyed
over crest
into
flight

.
.

fancy so-and-sos of
imaginary migration

shoes—like horse
and snow—as
discarded
treasure
stars like sea glass

nestle bright amid
abandoned shells
no longer suitable dwelling places

.

no need for land
right now

.

no need for landing
when floating sings sirenic

.
.

vertiginous journey
the way the sky steeps her
dipping and plunging
bobbing her about on
the rails of her own awareness

the deep breath that
steals her
before dreams
flood
her being

bauble of prayer
rising up
smoke circles and all
lingering in hair
kissing skin

biding time
chained
to the inevitable

waiting for the dharma
of interdependent
arising where
(self)
consciousness
fades to black

.
//
.

succulent
moment
ripe for
. . . . . . . .

beginning
.

~Carly Davis

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