Leaving Tomorrow by Roger Adams & Lori Howe


intangibly weighted

with every rock


by another impossible road

through a mountain.


The shutter

opens and closes;


The persistence

of memory:


Handprints of snow on mint-colored pines,

the winter sweep of it across a lake,

her soft, malachite gaze,

hot, jasmine scent of her hair,

the fine thrumming

inside her wrist.


How to cache these

brittle leaves

in among

the tables and chairs,

the books and plates,

the records and shoes,

the hard stuff of years?




a great story of the sea,

now a boned and bloodless


soaking wordlessly

into newsprint.


the ache of a hand in water

so cold

that it burns

and freezes.



Stop now,


breathe heat and flesh

back into memory,

refuse loss, yes,

this one more time.


Fling everything

and let it fall.


“Your choice,” she whispers.

Categories: Issue 1 - Fall 2011, Periodicals, Poetry | Leave a comment

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