War Torn

Hill of stones behind the house

slanted ceiling closing in

confined to the edge and wide awake

he hears a voice inside the wall

signal him, it wants to explain

while the TV keeps snowing

turning winter inside out.

It tells of unending circles

descending from the sky, a lake

to stir up sleep; dark flopping birds,

amidst the empty bowls.

Swimming with nightmare

he follows a boat until it disappears

a sweep of sudden freeze.

His mouth drops open; he holds out his tongue

to catch the taste of white then blind.

Beyond the doorway jumping fish

as the day fast thins

adrift in other waters.

This weekend Fiset reads from Bandaged Moments, poems about war and its aftermath. Afterwards, Seattle writers and performers share a favorite piece of writing about New York. Richard Hugo House, 1634 11th, 322-7030. 7:30 p.m. Sat., Oct. 13.

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