A Poem Beginning with a Fact About June

Kristen Orser
There are lots of interesting things to see in the sky this month,
like the hypothetical.  The scribe
who thinks the word bewitched,

records the sun.  The sun
going in and out 

of a cloud
while glancing at the water, where the barefooted

girls hold their shoes
and slip out of stockings

to send a scented leg into the air,

to see what hour
spills the lilac,

the sincere color of all our fantasies.  But the scribe
who can only record the leg,


find the girls angels.  Only girls.  
For him, it's only words

that honey his eyes,
make him an insomniac who dreams adoringly

of an easy sleep,

the letter z.