Like a Body by Dylan Wagman

I see your features
finely lined in the light
of the purple sun.

Just over the peak
of your Andes irises
I see you harvesting
the pink from the clouds,
pulling it along the brae
like a body.

You find shelter in a cavern.
The flickering light
of the fading pink
is enough to light the corners.
See the bones
of the orange
left on the floor
from a hike long ago.

You use your body warmth
To keep its rose hue.
Nothing evaporates here.
You have scaled this mountain
The brinks and the flanks,
you know where the scree is slipperiest.
You will rescue it,
adding its shade
to your rainbow.


Dylan Wagman is a Toronto based poet and a graduate from York University’s Creative Writing program. Dylan was the recipient of the 2013 bp nichol Award and won second prize in the Robbie Burns Poetry Contest in 2011. Dylan has been published in The Steel Chisel (“Infuse”), The Fieldstone Review (“The Skyline Circus”), and Deadbeats (forthcoming) (“Gathering Darkness”).