Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsSpring 2019  Vol. 18 No. 1
an online journal of literature and the arts
 print preview


When time settles in and I can’t wander away

and can’t not think of you as the coming one, living my life, standing by an open
window as if worn out from work or some arduous commute

When afternoon puts a blue sky and white clouds upon extraordinary buildings and
tufts of cottonwood rise up twenty-two floors

Like a lake that will not dim, or an island the color of olives, or the bright blur of a
mountain behind them

Or that the one voice that rises isn’t personal, or that car honking

Like the breeze in my shirt, from every

direction, without so much

as an evening   

From Strays by Ralph Angel. Reprinted with permissions from Foundling Press.

return to top