/lit/ - Literature

A longer subject-poem during moments with my partner;

Porch

Look at the humming bird
There on the hummingbird wire

Limbs unfold across white stone
and above
rises sound from moving.

I name you again and again,
forming the sound on my lips when you can’t hear.

Quilt

It was just some way the sun sank
behind knobby green hills
loose
with their stretching,
stretching up,
that reminded you of that painting
“done by the mountains themselves.”

I listened as you read “She says, ‘I am content when wakened birds,
Before they fly, test the reality
Of misty fields...’
Rain whorled around leaves
—shh hear the names that the
birds speak to.

Pisgah

The sweet singing rivers feel cold mostly
and dizzy green moss embalms it’s color by water.

The brown sign near the interstate with sayings on them,
white with elder-white around it
And the sky too with blue and white surrounding it.


Your legs are perfectly yours,
and I thought this while you told me
to slow down, to look at the fawns
nosing around pomaceous fog.