BACK
burrow in blankets
the heatless extremities
what can’t be
held
but isn’t leaving
a light in your lung
head to a familiar breast
AND THE SOMETHING THAT IS
The mosquito
frozen to my window
in a splay
of not falling.
White landscape pops
his tan stripes,
wings arched,
spectacles.
Dan Rosenberg's poems have appeared recently or are forthcoming in several journals, including American Letters & Commentary, Pleiades, Subtropics, and Sixth Finch. His chapbook, A Thread of Hands, is available from Tilt Press. A graduate of the Iowa Writers' Workshop, he is currently pursuing a Ph.D. at The University of Georgia and co-editing the poetry journal Transom.
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