Glance It’s like a book, a piece of music: glance from someone you believe is beautiful. In fifty-mile-per-hour wind, or under skies as white as Grandpa’s thighs, the fire-core of this vision burns. A Beethoven late quartet, those fine brown eyes: the soul expands as if put on a ventilator. Even if you’re diving into darkness (luxury it is compared to falling), reading Lowell or Plath, let’s say, the alchemy of pure delight transmutes the words and rhythms into his or her or their remembered face, now lovelier, of course, full moon seen underwater as you’re rising breathless from the depths. Nocturne (II) You’re in the kitchen, leaning on the counter, beer in front of you, dog at your feet, and trouble in your mind. Breasts pressed against the sliding door, the darkness is a succubus, inverted muse that has you disbelieving that a deck is there, then shaggy spruces, neighbor’s house, the woods, the high school football field, the university, downtown, then M-14 and US-23, the interstate, the road to anywhere, perception’s shadows decomposing so damned fast you doubt the Earth, its curvature. You listen to a record by an artist that you love who’s died, your heart a kite in lightning that’s been lurking in the wiry wind. Your father gave you something in a dream last night: you can’t remember what. No time for revelations now. Just ask of what you’ve lost: Why did you leave? Where have you gone? And are you ever coming back?
Thomas Zimmerman teaches English, directs the Writing Center, and edits The Big Windows Review https://thebigwindowsreview.com/ at Washtenaw Community College, in Ann Arbor, Michigan, USA. Poems of his have appeared recently in Black Coffee Review, Ephemeral Elegies, and Trestle Ties. Tom’s website: https://thomaszimmerman.wordpress.com/