Chapel
by Jory Mickelson Enough of water melding and welded to air, a seamless wedding dress, gray sea and the song it sings to erase itself. I am always departing, but at evening nothing sings: not water, not wind. Gulls depart the shore, always through the gray white gate of wing. The train along the bay’s ellipse isn’t singing. Only a boat’s low call, the empty benches of wave and the boat’s propeller turning over: I do. I do. Finalists: Acts of Service and Other Love Languages by Danny Canham Notes on Transportation by Tegan Beard Testing David Imburgia Poem Booth Sponsored by: Community Food Co-op & Threshold Documents
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