Poetry - Issue 23 | November 2015

Two Poems by Sarah J. Sloat

Oarsman Ghazal

“Where does the sky start, ruinous moon?” asks
the cabbie as the light goes green languidly.   

I move away from my miseries, a match thrown
over a hose that drips gasoline languidly.     

On the coast a traveler ends a long lunch.     
Inland, sunset turns tangerine languidly.     

Muddying the flashlights, licking the knife,
the rain goes about its routine languidly.

The lake looms like a dark blue bell. Rowing
off, the oarsman reveals the serene languidly.

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About the author

Sarah J. Sloat lives in Germany.

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