Nancy Kuhl


Ask again. Even as rosebuds not flowering not fragrant and no give. Roll between thumb and index, roll. Lead us not. Luminous glass one and the next each as singular as this or only or now. The charm the bead the wish does not anticipate an eventual fingerprint or impression. Might say window say might. Or when? Green, like globes spinning. Specific, the same as true, as always and still and another. Yellow shining sweet. Moving each and every together the strand. Whisper the whisper the want, like a prayer but not like you think. Chances are chances are answer. Red like a blazing hollow, like a superstition: if, then he will. Ask. Ask again. Blue as an eye as clear. And at the hour of our death. And necessity. Please, o. And the rope of glass beads pulled over the palm, turned in hand after hand, passed from one to one to the next.