2 June 2004 | Vol. 4, No. 2
from The Constraints of Architecture
for Megan Welbourne
A longing lives inside the mind: both to be in the past
Where we weren't, but also to be the person
We are in the present living in that unrealized past. The moon
Is a paint bucket on its side. The moon is the
Eye of the camera that records the moment when two bodies touch.
She's spent all night erasing names and details from the love letters,
Filling the gaps with origami birds and words painted
In red on the bedroom wall. Radio reminds
Her of falling in the woods on her back. The way the sky
Looked through those loblolly pines. The way the night
Was so bird-less that worms could be heard digging,
The way that waltz felt new and routine and in disarray:
These are things no one else has known.
About the author:
Adam Clay co-edits Typo Magazine. He has poems in Black Warrior Review, Octopus, 88, and elsewhere.
For further reading:
See the complete list of work by Adam Clay at 42opus. Browse the contents of 42opus Vol. 4, No. 2, where "from The Constraints of Architecture" ran on June 2, 2004. List other work with these same labels: poetry.