"My feet were fused with a 7-lane highway
My spine, dismantled;
a map of bones with no instruction."

In her second book of poetry, Bianca Bowers shifts between consciousness and sleep, reality and dreams, as she seeks to find passage in a restless landscape. 

"My ghost beckons me into the misty pines
and I follow,
like Autumn."


6 Nautical Miles

September

The Intimacy Of Belonging

The Ravens Are Everywhere

I Imagine That Im A Girl Again

The Memory Of Water

Chamber

Immigrant

My Ghost Beckons

Flower Of Life