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The Twilight

J.R. Salling

Our hospice empties in June.
The field swarms with convalescing gods
who stumble into mounds of hay
and anger their therapists.

We regroup on the isle of Reichenau
binge-drinking forgetfulness
when someone opens a concealed drawer
releasing time from its Olympian chains.

A blue-haired Aphrodite combs a dustbin for her pearls
and we wonder who will hold up the earth
when Atlas can no longer lift his own head.