I Look for You with Satellite View
But binoculars are my oldest friend.
Watching you flash between leaf and branch, stone
and sky, I remember, as the black groans
in, obliterating light at the end
of the day’s voice, that everyone descends,
our debts counted, stacked and restacked, the loans
unpaid and endless, like breath or the moans
of autumn’s bed spiraling back. Light sends
you elsewhere – the silver-tipped moon leaf, a
wisp of fog tracing your leg’s passage in
the sand. That empty bottle. You could be
there, above ground, or scattered where I lay,
an orbiting eye forever open,
looking, searching always, trying to see.
This is the 31st poem written for the August 2016 Tupelo Press 30/30 Challenge. Many thanks to Ken Gierke for sponsoring and providing the title.