return to divine
and at three it’s twilight
three in the morning that twilight
(fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine—
a nine and a gray and that sleep-panic
the gray of the unconscious cloak ripped off and
--three o’clock)
what if
indeed the pull at your sweaty sheets
unwrinkles the tiny hills
of a land for insects, can you imagine—
no, you project yourself outward to encompass
that massive body you can’t fathom
that might be unwrinkling your own hills
year after year the eroding of them
look down, breathe
one, two—
a stain
you’re leaking your rain at someone’s twilight
on the only world you can
/can’t see
--three
Rebecca Ann Jordan is a speculative fiction author, artist, and editor. Her stories and poems have been published inStrange Horizons, Flapperhouse, Fiction Vortex, Strangelet, and more. In 2015 Becca participated in the Clarion Writer’s Workshop and holds an MFA from California Institute of the Arts in 2016. While Becca first sprung from the earth near the San Diego area, she now sells weird and wonderful books in the mountain town of Durango, Colorado. See more at rebeccaannjordan.com or follow her @beccaquibbles.