the enso

detail from "Venus and the Moon" by Mark Hiebert

the poem

Like life, light often ends
before the shine is realized, stretching
further than you anticipated. The moon,
in its full expression, is a circle
or so you have been told. Peeking
between the crepe myrtle branches, you see
a drop of milk spilt on the twilight sky.
You replay the childhood stories of men
who lived on pearls of cheese in space.
No, you say, it cannot come to this: a speck
of a promise almost lost.

the enso

"Extensions" by marlowe

the poem

If a tree is life
then these exposed roots, tangled
like Medusa’s hair, half-drowned in water,
are the bloodlines. We want more

than these exposed roots. Tangled,
we twist our limbs, failing to see
our bloodlines. We want more
than the promise of power as

we twist, our limbs flailing, to see
how a legend is created from nothing more
than the promise. Power
leaves men stunned. In its wake, we fear

a legend is created. From nothing: more
power. This weapon attached to a shield
leaves stunned men in its wake. Fear
writhes, alive. Your head, the trunk, is

power, a weapon attached to this shield
like Medusa. Hair half-drowned in water
writhes, alive: your head is the trunk, as
if a tree is life.