by Rob Schlegel
I watch a silent film about the sea and I am forced
To imagine the sound the schooner is making.
Upstairs, you fill the bath with everything that has
Or could ever happen between us.
You think you have lived this day before. Earlier
At the fair we found a magician who claimed
He could transport us to a place where the new version of me
Could find the new version of you.
But the magician was only a magician
Whose oldest son took his mother's maiden name.
Somewhere in the future, we are remembering this day
And the wind is gentle over the grass as the old cows
Coddle their young and all of them lift their heavy heads
At the sound of tired people making love.
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Rob Schlegel is the author of January Machine (Four Way Books, 2014) and The Lesser Fields (Center for Literary Publishing at Colorado State University, 2009). He coedits the Catenary Press.
