by Mark Kaplon

fluid and floating and nowhere

            whirlworlds unroll
warp bowl-like down and pull
stretched fabric to a vacuous intent
— jellylike, babies spill
from the shell, mud-caked
bottoms fracture into cells
and at nightfall stars
like bubbles to the surface arise
eyes crinkle at their edges
edges withdraw from sight
the wrinkles splintering into light


Mark Kaplon
teaches literature and Hawaiian culture on the Big Island of Hawai‘i. His poems can be found in dozens of journals, including 
The Avocet, Canary, Lilliput Review, The Aurorean, and Frogpond among them.

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