Jul/Aug 2003 • Poetry |
landscape, fading
the beauty of these
empty fields is that
all they are is empty fieldsand thirty miles to the east
my wife lights twelve small candles in
a cold white roomwe are caught
between seasonswe are in love but unhappy
i am walking along
the edge of a deserted
highwaythere is a gas station behind me and
two houses aheadon the other side of the road are
an abandoned laundromat
and restaurant
that might have fallen from the skymy shadow is
the same shade of grey as the airthe sky has no color at all
i am a believer in the horizon
and in the powerlines that
trace the flatness of iti never knew the
drowning boy's name but can
take you to the part of the river
that devoured himif i walk far enough
a town will grow from the fieldsat the other end of it
i will find my housewill find my wife crying for
all of the things
i've ever failed atcrying for the people we've
becomeall of my
carefully arranged words
scattered on the floor around her
like wreckage