Dream the wave
That numbers
Joyful minutes.

Wake the dark —
In the transition

Car wheels hiss
And spit

Going down
Taste of iron.

Look for anything —
Smile or kind word,
Needle and thread,

Dirty hands,
Bootstomp dance,
Harmonies no one hears —

To grab onto
To keep from
Going under.

But who can’t
A lost cause?

The sky’s weight
And black tracks

Trace the road’s curve,
Then break

Something forgotten
Or deliberately abandoned

Prone in the tall grass,
Surrender to patience,
And be grateful

It never stops turning.
And know that to rail against
Gravity is futile.


About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

2 responses to “Recurrent”

  1. Uneven Stephen says :

    I love the short, sharp lines. I like the flow overall, but I especially enjoyed this stanza:

    “Dirty hands,
    Bootstomp dance,
    Harmonies no one hears”

  2. brian miller says :

    nice wisdom to end on there…to rail against gravity is futile…and i like how you touch each of the senses as well…def some nice quick hits in this…

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