i s a b e l b a l é e

Short-lived palmate leaves face down and old in wet dirt their little arbored dying it's just how people talk it's just how people Finally russet trees some howls come over ripples and you say describe blue well how do I respond it's just how people talk still enduring a heart We smudged contained fire on wood we copper-leafed a person watching their house burn Remember birds bathing in the next-door gutter and "why is that better" it's just

I JUST
	Have you been dead already too you know this you know what it's like in a body it just won't move. And water glistens a man's benched he's planning Chicago over the phone his face in hand like he’s seen today again and if he talks to me I laugh desperately. Water explodes East through a bramble and eventually a freeze. How many omnifold skies eventually emerge in plenty distance I want to ask you this guess what the water it salts and skids into a froth then eventually I'll be afraid to walk to really absorb enough wind
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ISABEL BALÉE was born in New Orleans and is an MFA candidate at Brown University. Her work has appeared in Thermos, A Bad Penny Review, and Thunderclap.

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