We were lost on the way, gathered in a garden,
all microcosmic in the sense that a place can mean
almost everything and still just be a place. Perched on a cliff, yet
rooted. At the center, music, fleeting presence in what is now
a sprawling landscape. It was different, then, but time
grows oceanic, directionless, and our imagined
future sets the stage for this more hospitable
universe: shadow and riverbank folded
over and beneath us, who can feel
the air of the other, breathing,
see curtains light, slowly,
and that is enough.
Aldis H. Petriceks is a poet and physician in Massachusetts. His poems appear or are forthcoming in Third Wednesday, Bear Review, and Pineberry Literary Journal.
