The bald edge of a cliff imparts its knowledge
to open air like the space between our mouths.
Because you can name something, does that make it good?
A feeling, a cloud, a rock formation—you could drown
in the naming of all, surface-shallow but sinkhole studded.
Is this good? Am I good? I touch you somewhere south
of a border I’ve crossed before, a line in the sand straddled
like a horse as though it could carry me into town,
down Leroy Street, along the Shiawassee River awash
with awareness. Where does it happen? Your mouth
makes a shape I can concentrate—no, consecrate—
in the space between the space between.
Lily Tobias is a poet from Fenton, Michigan. She has work published or forthcoming in Rockvale Review, Third Wednesday, The Dewdrop, Amethyst Review, and elsewhere. Learn more at lilytobias.com.
Interested in submitting to the 365 Collection? Complete your submission here during the last two weeks of National Poetry Month.