Ziiiiine

NOT A PRESS

Little Sunny

ars poetica

By Liane Tyrrel

i saw a ghost deer float across the road like 
steam rising 

it fit inside the palm of my hand and i didn’t blink 

the pond makes a sound in winter it opens 
and closes like tiny birds chirping 

i imagine the rings of saturn as a forest of a 
thousand bonfires burning 

mercury has no sound but lay your soft ear to its skin 
and feel the quakes vibrate 

i’m scared sometimes or i feel shame 

i love and i’m loved 

i’m not trying to say everything but everything is circling 

when i was a baby trees grew up 
around me 

i didn’t see them