Opener: “(sol)ace” by Lyrae Van Clief-Stefanon
(sol)ace
A hummingbird hovers in air between droplets of rain, showers in a single stream. The storm—: a wholeness
broken into—: sparkling strands, into globules cracked like clear casks over the bird’s jewel-toned crown—:
splashes silver. Delight wings ] go little rockstar [ 40 beats per second—: not tiktok, but stillness. Suspense. A
hummingbird breaks the day. Suspense sustains. Slow me, then—: in rarefaction. You moved into—: the rain
between—: black and green, where lift resides. The life reorient—: dwelling where we come to—: singing,
buzzing. (A crow knows what it knows.) We are made giddy—: delayed. A shared vibration holds us up. Black,
greening—: every span of shade to determine—: the shape of the body, the body’s inclination—: the density of
the air
folded like a note
passed between two huddled girls—:
laughter—: ruby-throats…
for e.