Emma Wilson

and backwards:


to fully see
the expanse of the moment


the draft in the air
(sharp, silvery)--


your body, worn, fantastic
under covers just worn


the machine casts a film
on the memory,


blurs it, as if behind falling water–
so glitching now–


   you, in the silvery memory, worn, the     
   room’s perimeter, and fully see, you,    
   mess of, and falling water, the moon
   how, and silvery, in the room worn,  
   blurs it, covers you, draft in the,     
   backwards, total expanse, the air sss   
   and worn, sharply your body, a
   moment on the total, a memory,
   film on the time fantastic–

three roses, cut,
exhausted, their neck’s curve
present
and cave inevitable—


the paintings surface
is smooth; I startled, then,
as if even the hard chill
of the vase could translate—


my hands crack at the knuckles
half the year. even my varnish
—not as neatly applied—
was too applied with a tiny brush;


the ruffles on the neck of the roses
the ruffles on the neck of the artist


such defiant details can’t be
simply starched out—


I pour my viewing of the roses
into the roses:


(but could never be so soft
to contain such
an index of dreaming)

Emma Ruth Wilson lives in the Bay Area. Find her on Twitter @emmaruthwilson and Instagram @lambxlamb.