a literary journal published by the Black Earth Institute dedicated to re-forging the links between art and spirit, earth and society
of the world.
I am greedy scoops of air, sheer webbing
in a halo of sound.
My jaws open and the world tunnels out. Each
a thimble of dark matter, which replies,
Here I am.
Even the stars have an odor.
is overripe, and each animal body
is curled in the outline
of its den. Terrain pulses with sleep.
My desert tree,
great armoire built of glances,
stiff hide of water.
I can hear her blooming. I can hear
of me, the bell of my body singing.
She is close,
she is wearing the sound of my voice.
Polyps of fruit
substantiated in the prism of my mouth.
I will seed the night with eyes.
I’m washing my insides
I do this just for you:
with the mellow slap
of your feet.
the tight-lipped flowers,
O, O lovely one,
I’m terrestrial now.
of the ripe and ever-
Everything leaves a trail.
Worm crawled out of the nightsoaked
soil and burrowed through the unbroken sky.
Stars passed through worm like tender
Bright casings were fixed in the pattern
Cradled by ballast, worm
was carried over a vault of black water.
Worm journeyed, open-mouthed, through the unfounded
Worm was piloted by desire.
Worm said, I am an inkling,
a diversion, the scrawl
of a closed fist traveling through the air.
I am without precedent, but
I am no dead end.
World was a bulb of blind matter
sleeping in the dirt.
Is it good? cried worm.
Let me taste it and see.
Alyson Favilla received an M.Phil in Irish Writing from Trinity College Dublin, and their work appears in several Irish and international publications, including diode, Poetry Ireland Review, and The Tangerine. They’re currently an MFA candidate and a Grisham Fellow in poetry at the University of Mississippi. Their favorite Mississippi mammal is the spotted skunk.