Ferris Wheel
by Sarah Marchant
I grip my skinny hands
searching for a ring that hasn't
surfaced in months
A fish hook pulling me into
the tar-streaked sky
by the tendons
Bend and straighten
bit by tension-taut bit
Tonight the moon is gold
glinting to unearth my bones
unbury my clean conscience
I close my eyes and it's still you
moving on me in the dark
suspended, smooth and unblinking
in a thicket of disarray
Gyroscope Review 24
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