by Sam Rasnake
... the other circle we make up ourselves — John Donne, Sermon XXV
Reading Donne's sermons just now, I think of you in your silence, four screws and a marble slab away from speaking, your hands a marvel of gesture to me — even now — always typing, always scribbling. A story with fence and creek by a small stand of maples, the heavy sun dropping past green threads of October ridge — time emptied of everything but voices from a long porch, softer, softer, then softer still.
All rights reserved.
Whatever is at hand is the necessary moment.
A piece that followed a few that made it out of a 10-month drought.
Thanks to Jonathan Kevin Rice for believing these words into a home in Iodine Poetry Journal, great print venue.