Wendy Taylor Carlisle
If Love Was After All Just a Mistake


an exit problem
a plowed surface, a gully
empty hands
his complexion,
a field tomato,
a burrow, a red mist,
the gypsy
the flames wavering.
a leap backwards
a Northern Italian forest
facing the sky
the scrap of shadow
rock mountains
seeds in a bucket.
a woman,
grave in a photo,
her long fingers
this instant
smoke
after all