Bonnie Jill Emanuel

The shimmer of the wind gliding across the land with dandelion seeds, flax-yellow florets under dead or blinking traffic lights running, running down 9th Ave. Shepherd’s Purse, amaranth, clack of rats on the fire escape. Zoom me— the sun on your tongue. I’ll whisper a blue glitter field to my screen, it will zoom right back to you. O Desolate City. O Bloom.