ships passing

By Sabrina Sanchez

muse and blue-penciler
all my words belonged
to you then, my foil

our hours spent on steps
in an empty winter garden
who could envisage us

cloistered in cold
never free to roam
cities or bodies

only rooftops and
the night skies absent
of any constellations

no legend or myth
above us only austere
alleyways before me

winding through parkland
you ran from nighttide
while I fled back south

my fevered brood
your denied desired

now wisps on wind

Sabrina Sanchez is a writer and artist living in Charleston, SC. The former Editor-in-Chief of The Troubadour, she is currently working on her first chapbook, all my dead birds.