November 2015 - Comments Off

Nathan Copperwheat

Christened

on the fly. His forehead
dripping the water of
one ruffled leaf dripping
the water of one rain-
heavy branch behind him

And Walking, and Walking

Kick the head off
a dandelion, think
about your pets.
Trail, trail. It gets so
hot so
fast. The triangle
of your head to my
head to the sun
can’t widen anymore, but I can
brace it with quiet,
with sleep.
What do you look like.

Published by: in Issue 1: Fall 2015, Poetry, Volume 72

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