Carol Moldaw

Dew Point
April 19, 2013 Moldaw Carol

Dew Point


Because of the nipple crust riming a girl’s
breakthrough poem, I google Quetiapine.

From one I learn what robotrippping is;
from another, the names of clouds:

diamond dust, sundog, fallstreak halo.
How had I missed Simko, Huidobro?

At dew point, vapors collect, condense,
become visible–classifiable . . .

cloud-bow, fog bow, crepuscular ray.
Despite his anchor-pierced clavicle,

the languorous boy sprawled across
a poem’s quilt needs no explication,

but what, I’m forced to ask the class,
is a tramp stamp? There’s knowing silence

until a galante glossy-haired girl
who for no apparent reason calls to mind

an abiding younger self, gets up from her chair,
pivots on her boot heel and lifts her top

to expose above her tattered low-rise jeans
and spanning her iliac crest, a set of lilac

tatted fairy wings. As to what they from me
extrapolate, that too’s inscrutable.

Carol Moldaw’s most recent book is Beauty Refracted (Four Way Books, 2018). The author of five other books of poetry as well as a novel, she lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico.