dancing girl press, 2013
Abigail Walthausen is a writer and high-school teacher in Brooklyn.
In the mangrove forests,
where no person lives,
coastlines creep outwards.
All the rest live on the edge
or pitch tent cliff side.
The curling stomach
of the doe knows dryness in
the birch forest and the town,
all rank with bitter weatherproof.
All hills and horizons shoulder
the great wooden words NOT HERE.
Far frontiers still do the spacedive
that the urbane have refigured in
their plateglass panoramas.
All space breaks, tiny time-shares,
over un-pact layers of collapsing crust.