by Alicia Lawrence

I used to see Wise, the one exception who dismantled locks, slipped through knots. He was like frozen sky made glaciers in reverse, waiting cold in deliberate eyes, stare like chiseled stone picked clean polished smooth, made to marble. He left no known to distract me, my aim to mark at hairline crack, expose hollow behind a wall, pinpoint how his eyes might shatter into light. Wise was both a tower tumbling and the flawlessness of the fall.

Since then, every passing day must have meant a gyprock chip, a fragment crumbling – like a note forgotten reread/misread misunderstood.

Wise is melting into everything. A magnifying glass held to the sun is a sniper’s line on him. While his breath is all the world, and there is no end to where he begins. Truth, I would do almost anything for him.


Alicia Marie Lawrence has poetry included in WOO, In/Words Magazine, Island Writer, Umbrella Factory, and ditch, among others. Her poetry was nominated for The Pushcart Prize. She received a Graduate Certificate in Creative Writing from Humber College.