open jug filled
by authentic rubber
and stretched leather
laces of Velcro
rooted in gravity
toward the edge of rock
then toward inverted air
the body of a bat
hangs weightless
cemented in time
where wingspan takes
flight, autopilot
into nocturnal sleep
for seconds as blood
rushes to the start
of a dream and
your eyes open
to the tectonic
shift of the sunset
when it’s time
for your abdomen
to colonize with
a cloud
of bats
This poem is published in Volume 19, now available.
Photo of Mason Earle by Audrey Sherman
Lex Abbruscato is an East Coast climber and writer looking to make her way back west. Poetry is her way to express the transcendental—sifting through the psychedelic mono pockets of her mind. This is her first published piece outside of college, and this poem sits with a collection of other pieces centered around climbing in her chapbook, Technical Vibrations.