by Nita Sembrowich
Ours for today, we can even touch them the tiny trembling bells and aromatic stars offering nectar and pollen, as if to us as if we weren't heirs to eons and immensity surrounded by suns that exploded before we were born and treading on dragons that time has turned to stone.
Nita Sembrowich grew up in suburban New York, but for the past twenty odd years has resided in Cambridge, Massachusetts. At present she makes her living as a copy editor and transcriber, though she'd rather be writing, painting, reading, cooking, gardening, or sewing. When she isn't working, more often than not she daydreams, and occasionally sneaks outside to contemplate the moon. Her poetry, fiction, and essays have appeared in From the Depths, Eclectica, Lalitamba, and The Temenos Academy Review. Although she loves almost all fruit, especially cherries, in autumn she favors wild apples, snatched from the teeth of the north wind.
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