Idaho, Moments After Sunset
by John Sibley Williams
John Sibley Williams
Having received an MA in Writing, John has recently returned to the Boston area, where he gives weekly public readings, and he is compiling manuscripts composed from the last two years of traveling and living abroad. Some of his over thirty previous or upcoming publications include: The Evansville Review, Flint Hills Review, Cadillac Cicatrix, Juked, The Journal, Barnwood International Poetry, Phantasmagoria, The Alembic, Southern Ocean Review, Poetic Diversity, Language and Culture, Raving Dove, Ghoti, and Red Hawk Review.
Lamps unsure if they've longer to wait
before darkness completes itself
and I unsure if their volleys
of flickering and hesitation
is the sought sign — when to know
if I'm ready to leave?
Ah the comfort, rejuvenation
smiling children impress on the crazy.
But upon that russet,
sallow cusp of horizon
day has broken
into glass shards lining the highway
and the children,
horders of all things
reflecting even the scantest light,
have skived their curious fingers
Stars like grains of white sand
emerge from a desert newly black,
who too age one more night
but will live to see another.
People enjoy imparting lessons
without awakening first in prison
or in heaven
and define bad water
as all rivers never crossed
and I who claim to be different
still cannot identify
which of the uninterrupted voices
scalding this desolate summer road
will find me the land
where music is no longer necessary.
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