Legend | Ellaine Beronio

It’s as if overnight                                                                                                                     The mountain grew
Prim. At dawn
Workers found it
Cloaked in clouds,
Fog lace draped over
Its breasts, a white
Sash declaring
Something’s concealed.

But he doesn’t need
Hiding, her husband
No one has seen
In almost two days,
His foot broken, or
A part of him pierced,
The blood
A trickle of liquid
On that surge of earth,
The whole length
Of him a reed
Among the aged trees.

New Year | Ellaine Beronio

Five billion years from now

When the sun
Pulling closer
Sticks its tongue
To the roof
Of the world
And sheathes

I will remember

Those Chinese
Lanterns flowering
Fire in the loam
Of the sky

Your reflection
In the windshield.

There were twelve of them.

We were nineteen.