Will the memory abduct the terms
of a shift. For whose benefit
the image of a window, afternoon glare,
slush in the road. Step nearer.
Not too close. The scene shifts before I shift:
a sudden consonance, or the continual problem
of enclosure and becoming.
I recognize myself speaking
and my observation becomes a question.
My sentences have subjectivities and I impose
some order, invoke some image. To hold you.
The weather variable in precisely this way:
thin light, thin sleep,
and clear blue into grey.
What exactly are the physics of this shift.
Anna Zumbahlen is a member of the poetry cohort in the literary arts PhD program at the University of Denver. She lives in Albuquerque, where she works as the University of New Mexico Press's publicist. Recent events and publications can be found at www.annazum.com.
the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan