After my walk, I am leftover
by the river, staring at a gull—
struck
by an afterthought, long
shadow from the tree lined
shore. I am buried here
actually, listening to this cantata,
surprised by a long drag of harmony.
Now I will
myself
into sun, tumbling today
in handfuls of gold, dazzling on
concrete, stabbing squinting eyes.
Two women collide
into each other's
arms
laughter spills
along the road. Vibrations
of their embrace send
tremors through the air.
Only now does day break
open in the crashing of their touch.
Steve Klepetar's work has received several nominations for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Recent collections include Speaking to the Field Mice (Sweatshoppe Publications, 2013); My Son Writes a Report on the Warsaw Ghetto (Flutter Press, 2013); and Return of the Bride of Frankenstein (Kind of a Hurricane Press, 2014).
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