Blackbird Archive← v18n2, Fall 2019Poetry · Volume 18, Number 2
Untitled (I stared at the glint)
I stared at the glint of cruise ships far out in the offing.
Even at night, in bed, from the sound of the waves
you knew the weather.
The house smelled of coffee. The great sky
folding over, your arms
a wishbone.
Where it’s cooler
and salty. Why spurn my exile
and yearn
for what you lose.
