July 8, 2015KR OnlinePoetry

Forecast and Its Failure

My daughter collecting rocks from the shore each day,
a pile on the piano bench, some under foot,
others disrupting the smooth rhythm of the kitchen table:
flint, quartz, basalt, sea glass, chert.

Moments become disallowed from memory:
the shallows of the day like the shadows of the day.

While she sleeps, we return the rocks to water.

Like an emerald sky before a storm,
the negation of a moment also admits it.

Each day begins with a rock in the palm—
the lake exists to saddle our apology.

This poem was not erased from another.

Here, life mirrors what we can’t quite speak.
Here, our skin seems too alive to hold us in.

Trading in a wishbone for a branch,
broth boiling on the woodstove,
a family of loons circled from above,
sand making the water deeper than it should be,
a hummingbird too big to be a hummingbird.

Adam Clay is the author of A Hotel Lobby at the Edge of the World (Milkweed Editions, 2012) and The Wash (Parlor Press, 2006). A third book of poems is forthcoming from Milkweed Editions. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Ploughshares, Poetry Daily, Crab Orchard Review, Boston Review, Denver Quarterly, Iowa Review, and elsewhere. He co-edits TYPO Magazine and teaches at the University of Illinois Springfield.