Two Poems

Peter Aaron

PRISM
     for Peter Brown

His mother is livid

(still remembers enough)
and who can blame her

stuck in a memory
loss
             care
                          facility

it tears you up
love in any of its

countless crys-
talline configurations

does that it can
slice you up or

the very countenance
of light

can shatter making
of it so much

cracked ice

VORONEZH, DUSK

In pale beech branches
sparrows perch disguised as un-
regenerate leaves

wheeling crows devour
pancreatic clouds
transubstantiation floods

through evening's bloodlight
a landsman steers his plow

Peter Aaron

Peter Aaron is wildly in love and hopes to stay in this state forever. He recommends the vegetarian sabsi and the firni pudding at the sumptuous Afghani restaurant, Kabul, in Seattle; the same city where he operates an independent bookstore.

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