Fall 2007 • Vol. XXIX No. 4 Poetry |

This Time in the Sky

My thoughts are known to turn to her, and I clear My throat and begin the once good song That was the kiss from the singer's lips, the match About to set my tongue on fire. And I turn the wheel Along the road I am on and turn in bed to face us When things were sweet. And I picture her hands On the arms of the armchair beforehand— The skyline beside her, the zodiacal light, The smoke and all the little empties, the shampoo bottles In the bathroom, her inexplicable nakedness, Her skin on my own. And I sing so Loud, pretending my lips are hers against mine And roll down the window until every word is gone.

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