It is foretold that dying comes into the body
before the mind.
An as-if kingdom has an effect over love like drying out.
The “us” too close and the “you” and “me”
too remote for the flooding in of goodness.
The last White Cloud Mountain minnow swims in the aquarium
and forgets how to fluoresce its gills of velvet white.
When did the world become so fraught with almost?
Ourselves who had lived too long with it, so forgiving
of being imprecise? I made listening look easy.
I asked how brief summer is: a few bees,
a release of pollen.
The photo of this moment would break your heart.
But can’t. Not yet.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 15, Issue 2.
Shawn Fawson resides with her family in Denver, Colorado. Her book Giving Way was published by The Bitter Oleander Press in 2010 and won the Utah Book Award for Poetry in 2011. Her work has appeared in Natural Bridge, Vallum, and Mid-American Review, among others.
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