BY LANA BELLA
its thousand lips drenched soft
by a tiny sphinx moth, the folding
black grew smaller and smaller,
chugging along an endless track,
like a trivial question fed between
ambivalence and self-ripening—
scarfed in browning leaves and
dewy foxtail, most of the primrose
aubergine was night-possession,
for the mirrored blimp of the moon
has costumed the low sky in wine,
and the earth a gibbeted shimmer—
A two-time Pushcart Prize nominee, Lana Bella is an author of two chapbooks, Under My Dark (Crisis Chronicles Press, 2016) and Adagio (Finishing Line Press, forthcoming), has had poetry and fiction featured with over 300 journals, 2River, California Quarterly, Chiron Review, Columbia Journal, Poetry Salzburg Review, San Pedro River Review, The Hamilton Stone Review, The Homestead Review, The Ilanot Review, Tipton Poetry Journal, Yes Poetry, among others. She resides in the US and the coastal town of Nha Trang, Vietnam, where she is a mom of two far-too-clever-frolicsome imps. You can follow her on Facebook here.