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| Sarah Rauch |
as she let go
like the cave, left by the calving
of the eastern iceberg
while she faced west
no job is done, no work fulfilled
no slap brush hands
announcing there, there, there,
that’s all
for every measure
depends on turn of breath
alongside
turning earth, our stars, our
tides and night
while she lies waiting
after the long span shift of
dreams
the clammy sheets, July
the highway with its toil and
blisters
the job, never done
and so let go
she gathers in
as rain decides
to fall
large morning drops
upon the dry of yesterday
relief, the iceberg south
leaving inner angles, smooth blue
green.
***
