We haven't had a poem in a while. And you know, I really like to make you read, as much as look at pretty pictures. Yes, I'm a bit of an old schoolmarm like that. Anyway, I liked this poem for today. It's by Laura Lush and was published in Brick 85, my favourite literary journal.
New moon, night hushed to grass swish.
A star trick-falls and a hound
bites his way through the dark. Watch this man
swing in a hammock—life spent
in the cool liminal pocket of air. Slow twists
of willow branch wheezing out
his time. Night birds rush overhead. The sound of
a zippered wind. Gust and heart-pound.
Tucked away—an arrhythmia of emotion. I won't tell
you how easily it can stop. But for
the hammock. Ask that man. His swing secret.