So much to see everywhere.
An emerald-cased midsummer
sky folktales clouds
hopelessly in love with a ghost moth
singing its small soul
An emerald-cased midsummer
sky folktales clouds
hopelessly in love with a ghost moth
singing its small soul
which has no secret,
has no death.
has no death.
I can think that, I can say
that, and talking this way
puts me in mind
of grafting love onto solitude without
anyone being there,
only a hush of breath
in pine crowns
hazed by a whitening blue
and breath under skin passing
through rooms hung
with ginger root and dry tea leaves.
So much to say
about a ghost moth
winging below
linen bells, clouds sailing high
above a pine forest, a heart
wallpapered with
a pour of light from nowhere, going
nowhere, full of
wonder and
always present.
Evening falls higher up the hill,
nothing more to desire, seeing
and unseen become
the same in air adoring the distance
between warm May
nights and a wake
of stars receding.
by John Harvey
John Harvey’s essays and poems have appeared in Burningword Literary Journal, The Carolina Quarterly, Edible Houston, The Gettysburg Review, Poet Lore, 2River View and other journals and magazines. He lives in Stockholm, Sweden with his wife and son.
back to Issue 17