Kristin Kowalski Ferragut 

Sound travels fast in water, while banal-

intent carries on wind. I span the difference,


distance between abating and loss, my arms

open as wide as a cross, the way I used


to mime, I love you this much. My fingertips,

twirl, dancers under masked moon,


stretch to reach back to each other,

the only heat they find. Did you perceive


the shift? One of us became separate, the other

whole. Like when faith fails and the Bible


abstracts. Jesus becomes a kind, wronged mere

man. I suffer no crisis of conscience in the profane,


no loss of joy. Compassion ignites. Divine

space grows ‚ÄĒ light in the Potomac, Ursa Major,


Cuckold Creek, a wink from a stranger, the brushing

off of dirt. Your spirit, tangled in want, reaches through


the impossibility of phone lines. You speak

into my ear to craft intimacy of our past ‚ÄĒ


secluded beach where clothes peeled off, skins

of snakes on patrol at the shore. I don’t respond


because I once loved you. Now I cradle extraction

of scent-memory from playing house. How you


withheld gleaming in my darkness but I still

shined. I hear your vacancy, but I am full.


Kristin Kowalski Ferragut writes poetry, songs, short stories and essays. She lives in Maryland where she teaches, plays guitar, sings, rides her bike, and hosts the DiVerse Gaithersburg Poetry Reading and Open Mic. She is author of the full-length poetry collection Escape Velocity (Kelsay Books, 2021) and the children's book Becoming the Enchantress: A Magical Transgender Tale (Loving Healing Press, 2021). Her poetry has appeared in Beltway Quarterly, Bourgeon, Anti-Heroin Chic, Fledgling Rag, Little Patuxent Review, and Gargoyle Magazine among others. More, including her blog, Poetry & Other Mystical Space, can be found at