This entry is part 17 of 19 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Summer 2015


In the aftermath, the center of the city
turns into a forbidden sphere.

From the air, thin vapors describe
what once subsisted there.

No one can remember signposts, bouquets,
or where the crosshairs focused.

The sky is a tray of hidden circuits,
tilting as it approaches full capacity.

Somewhere a lever flips and the chrome-
colored marbles begin their trajectory,

passing field after field
of stenciled poppies

then disappearing into funnels
or invisible throats.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Series Navigation← CursiveSketches for a Genealogy →

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.