Once a neighbor boy unzipped his pants at me in the woods. We were twelve or eight or who knows how old, but his
Your body compels my gazing— droplets on tail, wing, and crown are daffodil, redcurrant, moon-gray light. Museums of you descend and shadow the ground,
Carol Lischau received her Master of Arts degree from the University of North Texas Creative Writing program. She was a semifinalist in the 2016 Literary