a constellation of hopping hillocks
jetting round with buds
unveiled a prayer—
like an ineffable effusion of fir trees
the scent of a holy breath
sown among the hours
each murmuring at the moon
through honeycombed branches
of leaf-locked lights
caught in a glance
or washed whisps pallid and
peeled—the river in scratches
through her reflection
paled by the night clouds,
glossed in the final horizon ray
a special fragment knit by aspiring lips.
Atalie Young ’05 is an English and American Literature and Language concentrator in Quincy House.