I begin on an uncertainty of asphalt.
I run with my mouth open. I open my mouth to breathe
into yours. On a whim
the Queen Anne’s lace offers the roadside a galaxy.
I run. You take care of my breath.
You take care of it again.
Is this a practice of trust
or a consequence of summer’s washes and decoctions?
Like one admonished for not darkening enough
my nights, I ask further into the inflorescent
quiet. Once a woods, always a woods.
The sky begins at my mouth: star, moon, meteoric truck.
I find the wind. You find my west.
The contours of the pasture
repeat the contours of animals who wake
in the promise of grass.
I love exhaustion. I love it again.
Love Poem
Cecily Parks is a poet whose collections include O'Nights and and Field Folly Snow.
Featured
What Happened When I Began to Speak Welsh
By learning my family's language, I hoped to join their conversation.
Support Our Commitment to Print
Subscribe to The Yale Review. Receive four print issues a year—essays, fiction, poetry, and criticism.
Subscribe