Isabella by DAH



A small hand of rain opens
kicking up the dust that hangs
like fables from books

The sun, a broken candlemaker
tucked into the horizon
A breeze taunts the cracked leaves

Between us, love was tribal
the conjuring of eyes
the tinder, kindling, flames

and your body, an ebony vase
turning in my hands
til the surface blushed

and my fingers, like flares
and you, Isabella, fruit of youth,
your glowing lips, a flute
blew fire in my mouth

and my body of thin snow
melted under your dark sky

About the Author

DAH is a multiple Pushcart Prize and Best Of The Net nominee and the author of nine books of poetry. He lives in Berkeley, California, where he is simultaneously working on his tenth poetry collection and his first collection of short fiction. DAH’s fourth book, The Translator, was nominated for the Pulitzer Prize by publisher Dustin Pickering of Transcendent Zero Press.