WINNER OF THE 2012 DONALD HALL PRIZE IN POETRY
Arnica nods heavy-headed on the bruised slope.
Peaks recede in all directions, in heat-haze,
Evening in my recollection.
The shield at my throat ornamental and worse.
We descended the gully thrummed into confusion
With the last snowmelt a tricklet into mud, ulterior—
One wolfbane bloom, iodine-hued, rising on its stalk
Into the luster of air: June really isn’t June anymore,
Is it? A glacier’s heart of milk loosed from a thousand
Summer days in extravagant succession,
From the back of my tongue, dexterous and sinister.
Copyright © 2013 Joan Naviyuk Kane. All rights reserved.