Laura Woltag at Small Press Traffic

from REFERVID VIRGA, from the section did our never sound?
by Laura Woltag 



a distance transgresses me to appear as you. a bundle of sumac reaches into the indecisive melt. when we have to split to speak and rip to hear. I just want it to lift, so I say rip me.

sight might seem then; regenerate loss

warming into what’s falling. the fence then flakes. a poke at a vacant other. until I remember to look up. until I remember what to look up.


a coreless flicker stings me, rescues you. a splint in a splitting sound, falsified by the flight it ravages.

so dictating to lose phenomenon’s all I am.

do you want water?


what filters us inhales. air composed mid-pressure to reassure a circulation. so realms where “we don’t belong” glide above a severely patterned course. individuating devices powered down.

glean anyone for liberty.

touch in itself touches blood. tied up tone. blood fields. scratches then deletes. lands me you.


in gathering, a dispersed person hinges
our feeling floods we need
in the tone—
horizon’s giant hinge
placates quiet
beyond powers to invoke it

the form takes its conduits and marshes them

bundle the stems, suspend


one that might be you slips outside the heat that’s not mine
completely trial
like tagging
yourself’s split


can you hear?
-no, can you hear?

Laura Woltag lives in the East Bay, where she tends to things. Her work has appeared in Try!, OMG! and is forthcoming in Mrs. Maybe and the Manifest Reading Series anthology. She facilitates a listening/sound studies class through the Bay Area Public School.

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