by Don Colburn
Water, bone, bed, bedrock –
whatever is underneath, below what's below.
Sudden touchable quiet, shadow
of a shadow. Weather. Sadness turning
ordinary. Nameless illness coming on.
A knock at the door so gentle
it could be anything. Distance.
The just thing not said, or said too late
or said exactly and without mercy.
Wind rising. Whatever might rise.
First published in Ploughshares. Also in
Another Way to Begin (Finishing Line Press,
2006) and As If Gravity Were a Theory
(Cider Press Review, 2006).