by Carey Link
Time is measured in rounds—
as the river drips through a curved, twisted catheter—
into indigo—cool bitter.
Side effects, signs, lists, codes, colors, acronyms—
try to read the colorless puzzle.
Stories of where it has traveled…
Closed eyes toss and flutter,
a bowed head,
a hand held.
He serves me an “Appletini”—I laugh.
I pick out a hand-made
teal scarf and a sky blue hat with a butterfly.
Carey Link  has been writing poetry since she was a teenager. Her poetry has appeared in The Birmingham Arts Journal and in her poetry book Awakening to Holes in the Arc of Sun.

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