The blue and temperate world
We live in the marginalia;
every day further from the center of things, more of a scribbled note,
a smudge, worn and soft as graphite.
I watch as the goldfinches,
he and she, back and hungry, visit the feeder three times over lunch.
The wind chimes now hang from a branch of the Elm,
some industrious squirrel stole from the porch and positioned there.
Running, in the early morning, the rabbits look at me like the interloper that I am.
I whisper don’t move, I’m already gone.
I am trying to learn Finnish. Tarjosi, tanaan—to offer, today.
And like yesterday and tomorrow all I have for you
is this poem,
that I plant your body in,
like the sky is a garden
made of stars.
Editor’s Note: The narrative of this poem is bookended between two brilliant images, forcing the reader to grapple with the idea that reality is mostly created (and often startling).
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