When what was tumbling became tumbled, kissed and glistened
there. When the sunset on the mountain pressed close
what hadn’t been. When the gloaming opened
the ground to the world of lost things and you saw
your name and my name wend through weeks, caves,
beaches with their stories sewn on. When the nightlight
and the moonlight could not tell each other apart. When water
rose with purpose and fell deckward and streetward
but never could wash us from the frame. When your eyes
taught my hands how to dance lore for you. When. When
mornings the frogs and lizards found you and woke
you. When the hook broke. When the songs filled
the car like a dive bar and we met there. When you slipped
me over your head and walked out into the world and I
held you exactly as tight as you needed in all that sun-
shine. When sunshine. When I chanted you back to you
in tongues. When tense dissolved and every when became
now, now and now.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 28, Issue 1.
John A. Nieves has poems forthcoming or recently published in journals such as: Alaska Quarterly Review, Iowa Review, American Poetry Review, swamp pink, and 32 Poems. He is a 2025 Pushcart Prize winner, won the Indiana Review Poetry Contest, won the Elixir Press Annual Poetry Award Judge’s Prize for his first book, Curio (Elixir Press, 2014). He is an associate professor of English at Salisbury University and an editor of The Shore Poetry.
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