horizon horizon horizon horizon horizon horizon horizon

 

horizon horizon horizon horizon horizon horizon horizon
draw a line, first
instructional value of empty, of tool kit
of the empty world words
draw a line like you know how
like you learned, horizon, where you learned
and maybe you never saw, maybe you never felt
the bifurcation of an eyeball poured over,
stretched over the sun, the bedrock of gravity
horizon, in my hand I wear you, a belted
sarong revealing much too much, and oh, horizon,
the smell of descension is blue and from blue I wear gray,
in my hand I wear vision, horizon,
I wear you, I wear the same thing over as I grow older, and old
means up, you know that horizon, you know the deal
the one, you signed it horizon, in blue ink, that with time turned gray,
and shook off its perfume,
shook off its sudor, in some parts of you, horizon
what is there to hide, where is there to run?
where does the end meet its match and where,
if anywhere, do my feet stand?
horizon,
hello,
horizon where’s your breathing hole, and how tall is your daughter?
teach me to float horizon, teach me to drown
teach me to hug my way around, horizon,
I’ve draped a curtain over you and sometimes,
sometimes you let guests in, sometimes the snow boils waters enough to commune around a table, sometimes there’s bread, bifurcated eyeballs and much, much more to go around, much, much more to break off and share, horizon and I hope and I pray, horizon
I pray that I’ll come in







Rafaela Remy Sanchez (Raf) is a poet and creative producer living in Los Angeles, California. In 2017 she founded The Women's Poetry Workshop. “Horizon” was written during a workshop taught by Anne Boyer at The Home School, a one week artists conference in Hudson, NY in 2019.