Pulling the Arrow Out
       

Mumbling something about how
transcedence, in particular,
at first takes flight, they all three
          looked elsewhere, pretty much
in unison, as if to my face
a brightness not easily
withstood, or as if into whatever's
          the distance between luck
when it turns merely, and
luck falling clean away . . . I've swum
that field: courtesy,
          intimacy—what's left
not to know? One cloud must
pass eventually, from beneath the other.

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Copyright © 2014 Carl Phillips All rights reserved
from Iron Horse Literary Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission