Easel, edged in vinyl leaf, precipitate this flesh unblamed. Come, arrow. Come, vein.
Come slips and cleat and chains. Come stucco, numb, suck in
what can be sewn: today, a rain so absolute dunked marble into cloud,
& the infant piles into a neck, wet where base meets debt.
Scattered through the hillside grove thoughts of you evaporate,
scents in an elastic sun. Shadows tell no time but this: canvas tents,
corrals of chain-link fence, soot, puddles, sneakers, antennae --
these fix in eyes that spurn the day, sweep noiseless through abandoned rooms.
-- V. Joshua Adamsis the author of a chapbook, Cold Affections(Plan B Press, 2018). Work of his has appeared or is forthcoming in Painted Bride Quarterly, Mud Season Review, Tupelo Quarterly, and elsewhere. A former editor of Chicago Review, as well as a translator and critic, he teaches at the University of Louisville.