Coin | Poetry

Fatima Jafar

To speak of this would be to try and say something of a cave, a letterless mouth. The moon floats like a coin in black water. The candle on the table is dead. A mouth hangs forlorn like a well. A year hangs forlorn like a well. Still, a glint in the dark — a fish’s tail. Silver whisper, silver whisper. God is closer to me than my jugular vein....