Event
       

As a crowd gathered, I saw
the field was fertile—

not the coat
I left on a train

twenty-one years ago
but the same

color. It got cold
fast, dark, and everyone

became a silhouette
of the one

he or she had been
minutes before. We sat

or stood among
the trees to listen.

Each glass in our hands held
a little light.

The water trembled—
I could see

that much—like the first
swell of panic, when

you can't tell where
it's coming from.

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Copyright © 2014 Blas Falconer All rights reserved
from Southern Indiana Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission