Dog days

And I'll have a day. Truss you up in my clothes to scare my crows. In the open I wouldn't dream of refusing you harbor. Quicksilver plotting the shapes not for long. Shrewd a storm, scout direction leading movement — in my waters not hurricane not typhoon. Ague. 

I'll try. Have a trying time. Dog days depend on hemisphere. Promise me rains dews melts recuses. A hiccup chill to continue me you won't confess me you might you could you will me right for once. We parts to froth. You, spent debris, adrift the tribute. I jerry-rig mooring I confess I save nothing.

I'm having a night. Knuckles lead the room. The punch a dream in its bowl and that's how we know I'm sleeping. Even once I rouse in full feather no floes in that canyon. Bottom out see and tell the river no. You don't remember me like I you. Acres fallow again, only then I'm having you over promise dogs called and day off.

ξ

Avow

What good was avow in that humble place? Chthonic as in earth — khthōn — nose to, not below and so above, but right in the crust of it. Plucking on eggshells a sought-out song too fragile for company. Demure never demur. Would take my time absorbing runoff would watch the drought end but mora mora mora culpable as ever. The only intact door was hidden, where the labor went where I would hide where I kept my tectonic vows. I molt daughter sister child-pariah. Molten I move. Through.

ξ

Samantha Bares is a writer from Cajun Louisiana, now living in southern Germany. Her poetry has appeared in Yalobusha Review, OxMag, and elsewhere. Her work is supported by the Elizabeth George Foundation. Find her at mantbares.com and on Twitter: @mantbares.