Image by Leon KuhnAuspicious pairs of elevens,
twin Novembers, haunt,
infiltrate my no-man’s land
with roulettes of heaven
and pick-up sticks. Not quite
midnight and not yet noon,
linear sentinels play dead, thin,
right smack-up against
each other, head to head.
Four firecrackers stay late
and contemplate a digital
match, then flip about-face,
bang-bang-bang all over the place.
Do these doppelgangers craft
the eternal yes? They taunt
to keep me guessing, these shafts
of grace, in the corner of the room.
Tess Kincaid
November 2010
Posted over on her site Willow Manor
Listed as #1 over on Magpie Tales 41
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