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Microscopic Winter I

We were of the West
African trees and grasses: the orchid, the flame, the quiver.

In the Nocturama of
Wild javelina, cheetah, and gazelle, we stopped
The clock for dusk. Freezing

Little Tundra, Tiny
Ice Age. Gray-crowned
Crane, with wings extended: the wool
Of your boyhood cast about your bare shoulders.

Beneath the canopy of egrets,
You slept,

Dreaming of the sea: a great ocean-
Liner, and the ripping of wind
Against the latched wing of the ship’s portal.

—Cynthia Cruz


Cynthia Cruz's work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Paris Review, Agni, and Grand Street, as well as others. She teaches in New York City.

Originally published in the February/March 2004 issue of Boston Review.



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