by Cori Matusow
lullaby for water
on the shiverest of nights, just before the sky sleeps
catch the shooting stars upon your rippled back
for a moment, flickerlit and gone
snuff them like a candle that falls into your embrace
where everything comes to be dissolved
these sturdy stones are scoured clean
and you are weary in your washing
feel the immanence of long repose
in your stiffening periphery, your trickling icy fringe
it tickles, silver-cold and deep
sleep, river, sleep
Carole Anzovin (she/her) lives and writes in Western Massachusetts, where she finds daily inspiration in the natural world, the dance of connection, and the human journey. She delights in baking, knitting, devouring books, and growing native flowers for tiny bees. With a BA in English from Smith College, her poetry is a juicy dive into living life with joy, attention, and presence. Her poems have appeared in The Wild Word, Gyroscope Review, Silkworm, Impossible Archetype, Corvid Queen, and other journals. Find her online at @sunhearthpoetry.bsky.social and http://www.living-vividly.com.
Cori Matusow is a New York-based writer and photographer. Recent essays, short stories, and photographs have been published in the New Croton Review, Superpresent, Blink-Ink, and Penumbra. Cori has a forthcoming publication in under the gum tree. www.corimatusow.com.