Dear Xylem
Your bells
unyellow as they fall,
hollow out a song
to fill with splinters. The minus-sign
on the coastline wants you, but in
January buses don’t run
before a naked man brings
your stalk to where
his body & a snow
bank melt.
Dear Halo
On this day
I take a bite of
glow & become
part of you. I eat
a fireball in someone
else’s wooden yard.
When we fissure
smooth water
with fishhooks
I am handed the
legal pad of words
you hide in. You
are a lizard in the
headlight but I see
only angel & tail.
Xylem Tour
February exits
protecting rain
& army jackets from
sullen hikes in the
ice-cream snow. This
is about melting
the new year onto
confetti the serifs
shrink. The word year is
curled up on a snow-blind
sheet or is typed onto snow
waiting for a large person
to watch it sparkle.
Julie Doxsee lives in Denver, Colorado, where she is pursuing a PhD in English and Creative Writing at the University of Denver. Her chapbook, The Knife-Grasses, was recently published by Octopus Books, a new press launched by the editors of Octopus Magazine. Other forthcoming publications include two chapbooks, Fog Quartets (horse less press) and You Will Build a City Out of Rags (Whole Coconut Chapbook Series), as well as a book, Undersleep (also from Octopus Books, Winter 2007/2008).