7/12/10

As Before
By Karen Kelsay


You do not love me as before. Like clouds
that wear a ring of light around their heads
and dissipate into a purple dusk;
or waves, that slip beneath the weedy beds

when twilight pulls the tides; your quiet need
has sunk into another realm. And there,
it floats in solitude. One day, the gods
will snatch it by the wings and place it where

my hand will find it, in a canopy
of tangled limbs that grace the sycamore,
beside the sea. A hollow nest will keep
it warm--until you love me as before.


- - -
Karen Kelsay is a native Californian who spent

most of her childhood weekends on a boat.

Her husband is British, and she travels to England

regularly to visit family and enjoy the countryside.



Twice nominated for the Pushcart Prize

and author of five chapbooks, Karen's poems

have appeared a variety of magazines including

The New Formalist, Boston Literary Magazine

and The Lyric.