Her Iris Inhales the Wadi
Its tops high
two layers of glacial moraine
she rests low on the mountain’s face
she calls for her sisters
they follow them down
follow the space between them
slid between the mountain’s overlaying dunes
to find the place where she can rest.
There is room for the three of them
on a mossy boulder up from the ground
each with their arms tucked beneath their chins spread their
wings held on to the mountain’s face.
They Are the Tastes Beside the Tinge
Of freedom we no longer feel; they are the crimes that pass
us by. There are things that turn the breast of folks so dry
and yet drink in every drop of life; there are things that make
them give their heart to another in a world where their
heart is a long way from their thoughts; there are things
which tear through the gates of the past like the wind, and
take the people in a trackless wilderness, where there is no
water, nor rock, nor friend, nor enemy, nor deity. There are
things that pass us by.
David M. Alper is a high school AP English teacher in New York City, residing in Manhattan. His work has appeared in Oxford Magazine, OPEN: Journal of Arts & Letters, Sheila-Na-Gig online, and elsewhere.