Prophetic

The color of sheep the fields today,

your glance remains—silent

then I notice the deer run. 

A villanelle would appear to me

to be a lot like gossip—you must be careful

what you repeat.

We often stare for hours at nothing.

One thing I noticed, there is never a long shadow

when staring out over the ocean’s calm timorous sunsets.

I wrote a poem by hand with vermillion

on a piece of manila, I could barely read my own writing,

you held it high against the sun,

waited for it to eclipse—together

we often stare for hours at nothing.

One thing I noticed, shadows get long

late morning and early afternoon,

starting in October they persist.

The color of sheep the fields today,

your glance remains—silent in the air

the thin scent of marjoram,

all spice cools in an open window

a hunger, I step into

the field today.