with stars on my wings, watching morning toss its cloak over the moon as the brittle beauty of the sun clicked into place. I was a seagull once, wings filled with fog the lagoon below a mere handsweep of riffling water. How random and fragile is the passage of light. Nothing is strange in this […]
Ruth Bavetta
Ruth Bavetta’s poems have appeared in Rattle, Nimrod, North American Review, Slant, Nerve Cowboy, and many other journals and anthologies. She likes the light on November afternoons, the music of Stravinsky, the smell of the ocean. She hates pretense, phoniness, and sauerkraut.