shaking cottonwoods,
this whisper and shimmer of leaves?
Is it tonight’s full moon,
the quicksilver of clouds,
the sky’s star-thick seas?
By day, I look for it
in the beer I down
after a long walk in tomahawk heat.
I want it to linger
after we’ve made love and tumbled off
to an afternoon’s sleep.
But see how I cup my hands?
How it doesn’t fill them,
or give up its name?
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 27, Issue 3.
Justin Hunt grew up in rural Kansas and lives in Charlotte, NC. His work has won several awards and appears in a wide range of publications in the U.S., Ireland, and the U.K., including, among others, Barrow Street, Five Points, Michigan Quarterly Review, New Ohio Review, The Journal, Solstice, Arts & Letters, Cloudbank, The Florida Review, Bellingham Review, Terrain.org, Southword, and The Bridport Prize Anthology. He is currently assembling a debut poetry collection.
