vers
the static
vers -e proof of a shared
a- vers -ion to the effects of turning—
vers -us this, the
vers -e as plow line, as plumbline, this an
ad-   vers -e possession, territory unmoored from its owning /
vers -us,
happy
anni-   vers -ary, once more together in an egg-shaped loop around the sun. are you well
vers -ed in my verity, I am. a lady. I am
re-   vers -ing course, a girl in the shadow of the duchess—she
a-   vers a statement of her truth, her diminution, her turning into a very-much-indeed
in-   vers -ion of herself, yet unknown but familiar, familial, a vision in silk, a tufted
vers -ace handbag in hand/
vers -e
con-   vers -ing , a conference, a gem, a collection of
ob-   vers -e
facets /
vers -atile, virile, ventral
ver
ver
vers -ed in the tinny regulation, she
disco-   vers it is over, our covert dalliance. observe. a ferrous powder
co-   vers the chandelier/
vers -se-beguiled, she is spelled
with a
vers -al letter. a fearsome voice exposed, the virgule hanging. tongue dripping in diamonds. the ad
vers -e tuning the atmosphere hot. pink. a Martian Palace of
vers -ailles. the
uni-  vers -e is single-mouthed, sucking its sound into a pocket. balancing on a
vers -ant slope, housed in a formal garden of my choosing, I open
my chest to the weather
Cataract
the initial cataract1 was the flood
gate of heaven, a structure intended to keep the rain back. holding water
in the sky preserves the land as land. This is the defense of the desert
against the creeping sea.
A flood is a body of water moving to its improper place is
a state of swelling is the improper expansion of such a body. the cataract2
becomes the waterfall, the precise escape of the liquid
the wall of its name was meant to keep, as it has always
rained, the breach is implied. the water must fall headlong
as in, without obstacle. “headlong” to mean with break-neck
speed. your head is not safe
in a cataract2. The interruption of rocks
or earth births a cascade. The cascade is a diminutive
fall. light cascades through a window grate, another cataract3,
to be considered, that mesh over the opening of a building. a portcullis,
named cataract4 for the liquid slipping of its spikes into ground,
its motion that of the cataract2 the cataract1
stilled. A cervical stitch keeps a body within a body, the cataract4 keeps
a flood of people unrealized. I am too
afraid of the ledge of my brain. the cataract5 of the eye turns
light to liquid. clouded. bright. the mote dehisces to release an atmosphere, the
blindness unlocatable. this cloud accompanied
me from the floodgates of heaven, and I find
all the cataracts12345 are clouds, in the sky, on the lens, of the mist rising
as water hits yet another water, making figures out of air. A cataract is a cloud moving
with uncanny speed. the marbler combs his pigments, brings the pattern
out with a sheet hovering over a pool. here is the ledge.
here is the margin. under a still sky, the glass
flowers of the desert, filled as they are with bladders
of air, float on the floodtide, the clink of glass on glass re-sounding
upon each of their meetings at the surface of the water.
Kelly Hoffer (she/her/hers) is a graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. Her book manuscript Undershore was a finalist for the 2020 National Poetry Series. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Prelude online, The Bennington Review, and Second Factory, among others. She is currently a PhD student in English at Cornell University.