Green Hills Literary Lantern




I have a name, a face, a date of birth,

but all I really have is molecules,

the craft of wind and atoms: art of earth.


I’ll vanish like sunlight on darkening seas,

a momentary swirl -- figment of breeze --

yes, wish I had more core, but I am flux.


It’s shimmer, evanescence truly rule,

their nature constant shift, unruly mix

of here and gone-forever, crow at noon,

a midnight sun, the sway of trees, a slash

of hawk toward prey, cold lake at dawn, the ash

of last night’s fire. Someday I’ll rearrange

my atoms into fish or bird, a change

of course, but not entirely my ruin.





Spider in Winter


Fierce patch of ice:

ready to upend the bold, the meek,

the inebriated without distinction,

but no match for summer-in-March

that dazzles this slow afternoon.


We watch the love affair

of hard molecules with melt

and soon a midsized puddle

reflects the sun brightly.

From our porch in Catskill,

we’ve seen many a season

but none that changed more sharply

than this, in just three hours.


Temptation to step

on surviving ice

is too great to resist:

spiderwebbed cracks that ensue,

each fissure-veined with glow,

are mirrored in a real spider’s crawl

along the porch railing,

as if appeared from nowhere,

cousin to our plodding thoughts --

fellow descendent of the sun --

and more recently of the trilobite

who first evolved the eyes

that we bask in the pleasure of using

this lightrippled, warm afternoon.




Lee Slonimsky has recent poems in California Quarterly, Connecticut River Review, Home Planet News, Sierra Nevada Review, and What Redwoods Know, a chapbook protesting the closing of California state parks.  His new collection is Logician of the Wind (Orchises, 2012), and the next fantasy novel in the series he co-authors with his wife Carol Goodman under the name Lee Carroll, The Shape Stealer, is out from Tor in 2013.  He manages a New York City based hedge fund, Ocean Partners LP.