by rosemarie dombrowski


The interlocking teeth, the wheels
rusted, a secret harbored deep inside
an unmarked amber bottle.

When I think of you,
I see a mine shaft surrounded
by signs and wires,
warnings from another time
like the telepathy of tree rings,
how they whisper secrets
between the aspens that are
kaleidoscoping our sight,
twisting the geometry of shapes
like shards of dream-paper
scattered onto a blinding blue lake
with no movement.