April 18, 2011 § Leave a comment

By Jeff Barnes

I cleared a circle from the rows of corn so we could lie
and watch the crows overhead cut between power lines,
across the see-through clouds, blue sky and building moon.

How can something be so ugly and beautiful all at the same time,
you asked of the lines. The birds disappeared. By the time the moon
replaced the clouds’ white with its translation, I’d pulled enough

wood from the lot—our fire was catching—taking my oxygen
to grow its own shoots of light and warmth. Pointing, you asked
if you’d spotted a planet or a star, said you had to be sure,

that you didn’t want to jinx your wish. Not knowing, I wished for you:
I wish for _______ to be happy. That was the best I could do. Now, this August,
as the new rows flex with September wind, my wish has finally come true.


Tagged: , , ,

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

What’s this?

You are currently reading August at Windowed.


%d bloggers like this: