Nepali Tilt

Nothing turns in on itself up here,
sisoo and pipal trees reverent
in the evening slant, dew
strung on moss like tinsel.
No city-room travelogue,
no road of cubicled ambitions,
just moon-sheared valley
below the ridge and a harvest of
ripe silhouettes -- you can almost hear
the sky's percolation of stars.
The space this world tries hard
to fill seems tangible, separate,
as if some underlying void
were proof anything is
possible, time unjuiced
like a pinball machine shut down.
I scribble words as your camera
limns the dark's prodigal epiphanies,
collapsible metal cups
reflecting the camp fire, coffee
drunk with a handful of flames.

Sally Molini's work has appeared in or is forthcoming in 32 Poems, Southern Poetry Review, Ghoti, Many Mountains Moving, Calyx, Best New Poets, Salt Hill, and elsewhere. She is a graduate of Warren Wilson College's MFA Program for Writers and lives in Nebraska.

Boxcar Poetry Review - ISSN 1931-1761