By Richard Luftig

I want us to get lost
in this corn, get stuck
in dead center, meander
so far that the cars
from the county road
sound like pings in a cave.

get in over our heads,
drop out of sight,
disappear in this maize,
delight in amazement
at our plight,
light and luck.

here in our hearth
of tassels and whispers,
is where I wish to spread
out my arms, then hold
you tight to my chest
spend what’s left

of this night, this life,
these breaths, waiting to rise
again like some hidden
Lazarus to the surface
until night with each stem
and stalk yields its secret surprise.

Categories: Issue 5, Poetry | Leave a comment

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