Sense
You trace a ridge on my fingertip,
sloping hillcrest to trench,
your breath resting calm in the
valley.
Inside tide lines, you comb the
beach,
seeking what the sea casts up—
larimar and peridot, seaheart
seeds,
ammonites once feeding the giants.
For you fit with me, you fill me
in,
settling your prints into
mine.
Catherine Zickgraf
Catherine Zickgraf’s
main jobs are to hang out with her family and write poetry. Her work has
appeared in the Journal of the American Medical Association, Pank, Victorian
Violet Press and The Grief Diaries. Her recent chapbook, Soul
Full of Eye, is published through Aldrich Press
Tags:
Poetry