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ark in the field :: joyce peseroff

by on June 2, 2017

One morning you open

one eye and listing to the south
it bulks like a barn,

noiseless, derelict

planks horizontal and deeply grooved.
A rudder the size of your front door

pivots as you push. Once

inside you can smell
the fear of every winged,

creeping and four-legged thing:

no water, no straw,
just shadow and bare wood.

Where is the one promised

to wake beside you forever?
Ox-eyed daisies, goldenrod, clover—

why are you breathing

among them, why don’t you gather
the outcast beasts or become one…


From → poems

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