By Caryn Mirriam-Goldberg
What is it to wake at night not watered down
in overdrawn voices from the day, to see the space
and not the figure in the space, to fall backwards
in a dream and realize it's a dream?
What waits, wet as fire, on the end of the line?
The rushing of wings, the billowing of thunderheads, the crashing
of car into lamp post, the slivering of bark from tree,
the waking suddenly for no reason?
Meanwhile, insects reproduce themselves like breath,
birds loosen the sky with flight,
stratus clouds streak across the moon,
kisses stop, and stones break apart
so easily that it's clear they've been cracked inside
for a long time. Each life a transference of water.
Each act just a way to move light around.
Even knowing this, why can't the heart stop asking?
-- Caryn Mirriam-Goldberg is a Lawrence poet. Poet's Showcase features work by area poets. Submit your poetry via e-mail with a subject line of Poet's Showcase to email@example.com or send typewritten (not handwritten) submissions to Mindie Paget, 645 N.H., Lawrence 66044, attn: Poet's Showcase. Teen writers should submit their work to the 18 & Under page at firstname.lastname@example.org.