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Lisa Russ Spaar

May/June 2019

Wasp

By Lisa Russ Spaar

Corseted, dandle-legged, as cold comes on, you, isolato, bumble over this room, ziggurating blind-slats & bookshelves, dive-bombing the lampshade, falling flat, quiet, seeking . . . egress? — what? Having crept up […]

May/June 2019

Indigo Bunting Madrigal

By Lisa Russ Spaar

Riddling like lovers the garden’s lower sward, campestral half-acre — alfafa, wheat, weed-tops repentant with seed in heat mercurial —  these cambering notes, volant, fleet, strop & weave. Sky in my mouth, watching […]

Fall 2009

Kismet

By Lisa Russ Spaar

Our limbs in such    ligature that, world adjourned, would even God have recognized us as human?    A swallowing. Then pearling scree at the sill Of—where?—me or a tree shivering    with […]

Spring 2006

Hermit Thrush

By Lisa Russ Spaar

       Still wouldst thou sing…                 —John Keats   Why so sick for a song I’ll never hear:the first note most secret, longest, a low tuck ventriloquialfrom fern-screened divot or tussock of sphagnum bog, then the […]

Spring 1998

April

By Lisa Russ Spaar

Bridal skirts of weeping cherry, jilted by recent rain, and the chimerical plum along the median strip are washed with pinkish hallucinatory white, and a slick oceanic light suggests everything: […]