American Dusk
       

Beneath a stagger of stars the herd untangles,
hooves throbbing the prairie's dull drumhead,
grave as the heart's marginalia. The day unhitches
from reason. Pivot and swivel of senses
are over. Darkness laps at the edges.

The glass beads of heaven's black abacus
slide slowly toward rote constellations. Turning back
toward the lit house, where linen solves nothing,
recall that while matter tells space how to curve,
and space teaches matter to move, the word endless

isn't.

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Copyright © 2017 Jessica Goodfellow All rights reserved
from Whiteout
University of Alaska Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission