Shantih Journal 2.1 - Page 45

Pale Here caleb jones It’s pale here All morning smoke and mountains And clear Like jars poured out and hung up on twine Stories told to no one outside Like a wedding veil on a child bride It’s bright here All water hose and tree branch And dirt Like gardens grown and grilling fresh corn Digging up the place I was born Like a lightning bug in a room alone It’s dark here All jet black dogs and hallways And sound Like purple shadows drowning dead stars Finding out how awful you are Like a flower bulb being pulled apart 45