song

by Sara Burant

suppose rain is playing our song in the theater

of my skin though we don’t have a song

& i don’t even know you yet i want the rain’s

red velvet mini-dress its kinky over-the-knee boots

the way it keeps taking off my clothes i want 

you to ride out from the painted backdrop

on a white horse to fix my flat tire in the rain

parading down & down & down my spine

the rain’s supreme wetness insists time’s an urgent

matter i’m up to knees in its trumpets & suds

dished out having ridden the rails of a series 

of mishaps i prefer not to disclose though i will 

say the omens paved the way for my own 

Nicodemus fish-like to rise     I am only of water 

& flesh see i pour myself out & sound my own depths    

a lake, he means   a lake    let us ride into it 

on a horse a kingdom a bike going pianissimo 

making only a splash on the canvas to indicate 

we were ever here

Sara Burant lives with her dog Penn in a converted garage in Eugene, Oregon. Her poems, collaborative translations, and reviews have appeared in journals such as Canary, One Art, periodicities, Ruminate, The Denver Quarterly, and omniverse. Her work has been honored with a fellowship from Oregon Literary Arts and a residency at Playa. She’s the author of a chapbook, Verge.