a split seam
the torn edge where the light comes in
the gap where dark drains out

it seems, split
there is the sky half, there is the earth half
there is the tear between

a pink seam
it seems like a hinge between night and day
it seems like the lip of a shell

a hinged shell
open at the edge of the world
open like a lit window

a lit sill
it opens overhead, so slow
it opens from the edge

the torn edge
(it opens)
Julie Naslund lives and writes in the high desert of central Oregon. She feels that writing poetry is an act of translation.