Anticlimax

I remember white on the mountain,
color submerged,
dispassion’s surge.

I remember he spoke a snowstorm,
thought pelting down,
a cloud his crown.

I remember the shriek of atoms,
the smell of stars,
the thinning stairs.

I tried to climb
straight out of time.
I remember his hand on my arm.

Hilary Biehl

Hilary Biehl’s poems have appeared in The Lyric, Ancient Paths, and Dappled Things. She lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico, with her husband and son.

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Prayer

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Impromptu: Reporting from La Mancha