Two Poems
Julie Doxsee

Worming the Soul from Enclosure to Honor

Inhabitants with fiction beflower its gray picnic

XYZ eats a tenth moon

& the harbor of sleep is saved

in the wind's bones.

The Royal Chimes Colliding

there is a pigeon in a glass box

whose two or three flaps

happen early.

a wing

not your own


an umbrella

not your own

is little, the pitch

inside the skin of

quiet chimes

thrilled, shrillness

a helix

in the cooing silk.