Sky meets everything makes horizon liable
for flight then plummets of grace Surrounded by people feeling nah
there’s chatter I can’t make out half-listening to
the dead The voices are calling & it’s rare when
I am even half-ready Rain bangs
against forest to get attention back Let’s not
ask about presence & breathe absence in deep
There are no trees where we live but
today we’re somewhere else Amphibians talk
syllable by syllable in the pitch of dark The sounds fuck
w/the inner ear until composed into
communiques for worse or for better Wherever
we are let’s find a coastline to skirt alone Some things
need to be said along a fluid border
I stood still so long to protect
existing ground but now the distance travelled
from your voice to mine is
a space that cannot be ordered Not like it’s smooth
Me not interpreting your…
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The American Poetry Review (Digital) - 1 Issue, July/August 2018