A Poem by Anon ymous
We hunted for quiet, legs pumping
hard up hills, bike tires worn bald.
She brought tarot cards,
said her mother was a gypsy;
her voice became small, I tried
to steal a kiss in the dark.
It’s been days without rain, the still waters
of Superior drowns the wind.
The air is tight; you always know
what to say;
you have written me a map;
I smell burning wood, the ash.
My future lies bare, I’m at a loss; a fall
leaf blown from sidewalk to street,
the lake hums; you press my name
to the roof of your mouth.