a journal of fantastical poetry

Songs Old and New

by Iori Kusano

We could not find the 
new words we needed for the 
expanse before us,
and so we turned back to the
very oldest epithets.

Cloth-pale, berry-black,
crow's-wing, jewel-strewn, rice-cake moons;
old poems came alive 
in our awestruck, open mouths
when we looked out into space.

Awesome gods themselves
had never heard such a sound
as the awesome voice
of humanity that rang
infinitely high and long. 

Stopping our ship in 
the ever-flowing Milky Way,
we begged lodging from
the wet-sleeved Weaver Maid who
tends the floating bridge of dreams.

May 22nd, 2016

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