Passing Light

Passing Light

Whatever I took from it,

that poem I heard on the radio

as I drove toward Albany,

long vertical sheets

of New York bedrock

framing every word,

it could not mean so much again.


The unfamiliar landscape

disappearing beyond my periphery

must have lent to its power

to its meaning

to the way I wanted, then,

to stop before I reached my destination

and look for you,

some copy of myself

speaking to my imagination

whispering things

that only I would ever say.



DeMaris Gaunt


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