out in the farmlands, the windmills blink red
at night, antennae transmitting signals to
the stars. my entire life fits into one
suitcase, two cardboard boxes, and three sets
of pale hands. i thought of you as we drove
out to the land of cars parked on the side
of the road, of the gate that will soon creak
open under the light of the waning
crescent. it is nothing for me to move:
i can unpack my things in half an hour,
drive my roots deep into the soft earth like
a wooden stake slammed by a mallet. still,
in the early evening of this day sent
to remind us that summer is not yet
over, i feel the potential on the
tips of my scar-tissued fingers, see it
hovering in the clear air, hear it as
a song carried through gently spinning white
blades and into my window open just
a crack.
end/start
page revision: 2, last edited: 23 Aug 2025 23:06