ISSN 1758-6488
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Continual Visit Poetry |
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Like something falling through you
something happened on or woken with
things begin to come. A summer suddenly
repeated and there you are, stretching to it.
Light falls from the side garden, the dogs
have all returned; the radio reaches back and pours
old shows into the kitchen and out
into the sunlit yard. Country music
haunts the rusted Escort, old news
persists; the skeins of gossip hold
and place after place comes on in my head: small
fierce broadcasts, the fields flourishing their one harvest
a single ripple printing the lake, the voices
spilling into the sun as if the thing might stay on.
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