After
By then hopefully
I’ll be stumbling over starlight
stray piercings of every moment
of silence erasing
what your breath felt like
from across the orchard.
Until then I push
this furniture around the room
the borrowed couch against window glass
the table where the bed once was
and the bed outside
push till it all feels right
the carpet torn
the coffee pot shattered
leaves and slugs
and other strangers
in the blankets with me
beneath these trees.
We Are Still Building Beach Houses
There is a streetlamp
on the ocean floor
waiting
for our small act
of consenting
to time
knowing the sudden loss
of any object
resonates for years
if a year means anything
beyond postponement
beyond asking for more
which is why water
lives inside water
and we call it a body.
Cost of Living
Am here with the day
and its gentle dying
the dog cleaning herself
on the couch loudly. Am thinking
of this maintenance
we've perfected.
Autumn, inevitably.
What apples remain
rotting towards something
misunderstood as waste.
There has always been enough.
Tomorrow rolls along
because of this excess
our time split by memory
spilling into a shallow ditch
because of what it takes.
Of course we exist.
We make this so
by giving ourselves
over to it.
Nathan Lipps is from and currently resides in the Midwest where he teaches. You can find his work at Best New Poets, North American Review, TYPO, and elsewhere. (nathanlipps.com)
Comments