The Offing, an Aubade
January 28, 2021

That dusk in the pantry corner
where the dull bag of bulgur lies.

The whiskey line where sky meets land.
The nickel cloud bearing storm.

On a forested mountain, the spur around boulder
and falling. The whump of the fall itself.

Frozen shoulder. Arthritic knuckle.
The cross of arms in anger.

The damp of the hole I dug as a child
on my sure way to China.

A pine marten in a thicket baring its teeth. The squirm
of a frog in an egret’s beak.

A dust slut under the bed where we just made love.
The sneeze. The one departing

watched through the slats of a blind.
A stubbed toe. A single sock left behind.


Photo by Ricardo Esquivel from Pexels

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