I saw you last night in my dreams wading into a still and silent pond. I woke up stumbling in the dark—desperate for a glass of water. Couldn’t go back to sleep, couldn’t uncover the good way to live day to day. Meanwhile, did you know? At that cracked bronze hour of not-morning and not-night, the cars on the overpass sound like ancient winds on a snowy mountain.
Shane Kowalski lives in Pennsylvania. He works for the United States Postal Service. He is the author of Small Moods (Future Tense Books).
The Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan