Sarah Westcott
Let us begin at slant light
with cut felt flickers,
unhooding cubic skulls,
furtive and hungry.

—from Bats



underfoot and in our hands
in our gags, pockets, fists,
it likes to be close to us
whispers down the lines

—from It

We willed her wings to open
her form take shape,
conflate to airy spaces.
A new crescent moon.

—from Messenger

They remember every birth,
find the vanishing point in shop windows,

walk over hot coals, and pray
they might, one day, burn.

—from The Cannots



holding fist-force, face down,
giant stamp into hollow, our hollow
shaped to our feet, our home. Us waiting

—from Barnacles