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Clade Song 3 Left

Clade Song 3

your yellowstone will occur here

                    you found the son       sap covered      under a Tall
                    a tree so upward it stunned you
                                                                                    eyes to squint

                                I used to

                            in the grasses versatility
                            and light    and then

                        faceless    a mammal    nothing but agile and weight

                    four feet on jeep       flicked tail     and dent

                    your yellowstone bridges the boiling
                    you needed to flick it
                    green      amber        iron

                    that Tall     never burning
                    as in the rest of the park

                            wouldn’t I have transfixed it
                                wouldn’t I be transfixed
                            would I glance down?

                    sap once in a knife is ever in a knife
                    a knife in a memoir is more

                        son is blade            son multitude
                            recipient son
                receiving knives linearly

                                                     all over the country    fountains boil

                he looses a this knife at his feet


                    his atmosphere    sulfurous     heavy

                a sphere around him in culm and bromegrass and needlegrass and
                wheatrye bract and

                as in an axil       he has innumerable edges
                he won’t forgive himself that glume

                    won’t he

                he would be faithful
                would carve it sing it

                he’d do something thoughtful child

                                                            old faithful
                uprising or fractious

                splashes from above      and heat
                not horizontal not layered

                                        what plummets is naturally vicious

                the odor
                I wouldn’t turn from it

                    wouldn’t I

                I would bridge       kneel
                I do something      I do some things


you come home to the rest of your life

Clade Song 3 right

Aby Kaupang, author of Little “g” God Grows Tired of Me (SpringGun Press, 2013), Absence is Such a Transparent House (Tebot Bach, 2011) and Scenic Fences | Houses Innumerable  (Scantily Clad Press, 2008), has had poems appear in  FENCE, La Petite Zine, Dusie, Verse, Denver Quarterly, The Laurel Review, Parthenon West,  PANK, Aufgabe, 14 Hills, Interim, Caketrain, & others. She holds master’s degrees in both an Creative Writing and Occupational Therapy from Colorado State University. She lives in Fort Collins with the poet, Matthew Cooperman, and their two children. More information can be found at