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by Jesse Miksic

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She a rogue wave,

Gathered from a thousand

Empty gestures to

Face down the night

 

My love the

Sea floor, the silt

Of a slow fingertip that

Tries to keep the storm awake

 

Her step the

Maelstrom of an

Air-conditioned hallway,

Damp with cycling neon

 

The rusted corpses of

Aircraft carriers litter

Our settled life, a bay

Still ready to be trawled —

 

These places move

Around us, we lift

The water

 

She will find me waiting

At the center

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Jesse Miksic is a graphic designer and writer living in the suburbs of Philadelphia. He spends his life writing poetry, prioritizing existence over essence, and having adventures with his awesome family. Recent placements include Deracine Journal, deathcap, Neuro Logical, and Cape Magazine.

 

 

 

 

 

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