Kimberly Vargas Agnese

At dusk 


evening pulls its’ drawstring around us

and the moon pulls on the sails of ships,

can you smell salt on  breezes which twine around those slender twigs

outside our windows?

the arch grows plump with dusky biscuits next to the white picket fence

and small leaves clamber 

for stories from windy knapsacks

and the rest 

i suppose 

is better left unsaid…

hush fills the hollows of the beach

in the morning we will look for sunlit honey on berry bushes

 

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Published by Kimberly Vargas Agnese

My name is Kimberly Vargas Agnese, though I've previously written as Kae Bucher. I was born in the Florida Keys, but grew up in the Bay Area before migrating south to the San Joaquin Valley. As I ride barefoot around Fresno, I consider the paths I've chosen and the crossroads where our country seems to have perched itself. Thanks to my Romani ancestry, many people groups reside within me and my poetry tends to reflect this. I love welcoming the sunrise with my Native American flute. I've been rumored to juggle while teaching students how to write. And if you can't find me, I'm probably hanging out with Jesus listening to parables.

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