Elline Lipkin



Villanelle: Warning

Screen will not stop child
from falling out  window.
Keep child
away from open window.

Outside, the year falls from June’s window
ripe as the month’s four letters, something to squeeze or squinch.
While far away from the open window
each distant month is a field of ambered grey, of violet dusk.

Ripe as June, summer’s throat opens  
unscreened against what waits and falls: a whisk of  hours pressed
to violet dust, ambered words cast from distant months
where a child still left in a far field waits

to be called in. Pressed against a screen of wanting
the child will keep. Words are borne through this sieve,
amethysts waiting in a far field, carried by the child,
unscreened, who will not be stopped, whose hands will not unbloom.


Photo Credit: Emma Wollenweber