top of page
  • Writer's pictureEmily Misura

The Harborist

Could it be

that a hole can grow

from the knot of a tree,

a void from where wood

& grain & rings & water

all evacuate and retreat

into some unfounded

new darkness?

Just as a burl evades

the lathe,

the hollow founders

as obligate leaves

still the silence.

7 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

cash's coffee

a fluorescent full moon guided {us} quilted moths. gravel crunched, nails clicked. where the wall meets the sidewalk leaked the giggle of a shared secret. we've encrypted these moments like the finger

water & salt

a quip - the last of the rarest jokes on earth like snowfall > April showers - befell. We shared this moment the way two people watch a performance of King Lear.

separate clauses

it's a hard thing, this lucid living: sitting on a donated couch in an already-sold house with someone whose grave I had just visited. "but I've been to your grave," the words unspun from tangled teet


bottom of page