After Years Together by Gabriel Welsch
By now you know the moment it begins:
air charged with static and the threat of storm,
a wind sees through you, and you put your world
on hold. Circle the block, let the groceries grow
warm before the snap of the first words.
Or take one more cup of coffee
before work, rest one more moment amid
the recalled murmur of friends assembled
in any of summer’s fiery idylls.
You court love’s fleetingness,
scatter last seed for its sparrows
which would otherwise lift, feathers
worrying your chest, their ascent
the inevitable flight of affection.
Watch them, imagine their claws
gripping the pulpy muscle of your heart—
their flight thickens with you, and your eyes
roll back into the lemony light of lost days,
to your familiar fields of poppies infinite in pink.