If Not the Bliss We Were Promised

106 ellen wehle If Not the Bliss We Were Promised If stars sing in our blood of trace metals If atomic clocks rely on excitation Sap rising up sugar maples How many winters of white sleep I awaited that arrival If our fingertips house a hundred nerves Each lit with alchemical fire Name my race dust name me void’s daughter If half-dead I just kept choosing Light frozen to a solid What else could it be this brilliant Square the fly is drawn to CRSUM09 poetry.indd 106 5/22/2009 12:37:04 PM ...