3 Untitled Poems Elaine Kahn


he lived on my shoulder
and i was another place
behind a lagoon rhythm
of a different year

it was always this season
it was always hard and soft and
floating on the surface of
everything that always moves


i watched
they live
touch dead hairs
behind other houses
where there is moss
and we are pleasant to each other
although it’s true,
that they are always lying under fences




lets make art out of pennies
lets make cats out of yarn
hard cats, narrow cats
the hard word of art
the impossible art of touch
this, this is your cheek
here, here is your neck