There is a time for making and a time for snow. Thinking.
No one is there to hear the thinking. Staring out across
river, the brownness drinks. Feeling vertiginous, candy.
Slender in calling. Down out at the bottom, reeling and
laughing. The fishermen float over. Cast down a stone and
a tired wish.
Here is a story that requires making. Its legacy tied to hair,
temples. Milk and ash smooth me. Rub me.
Prathna Lor’s most recent chapbook, 7, 2, is forthcoming from Knife Fork Books in January 2019.