On January 1

Elizabeth Robinson

for Norma Cole



Time is light,


that’s all.  Her tongue


a version, a map


version, where star maps


are always off-history whether


translating light


from a far galaxy or a local


cloud.   “Oh!”


she said, a figure of herself,


“Yes.”  Whereupon the light


threw itself down and pierced


her tongue, where it remained


like a stud, that she clicked against


her teeth as she spoke.