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Dissolving with the heavy edge of light
There is a weight to all tonight, a haze,
The air is thick, the moon is full, the lights,
The lights each fade to nonlight irregular,
Late August blurred and settling on the world.
No leaves too heavy with dampness downtown,
But wetted brick equally oppresses,
No rain but water beads on roofs and hoods,
And I can hear it in the distance falling.
How water wades from pores to air return,
I watch it obscure my world in rising
Protest of its earthly boundary changing
State en mass diffusing in the after-
Rain around a moment, around present,
Dissolving with the heavy edge of light.
Forgive me my lingering
The bed is too big and smells of us
And I feel the fitted sheet creased and patterning
My body beneath me
my body like wax
Spoon heated and poured to seal what memories
I’ve folded into this morning without you
Wrapped in what presses an incantation
In dream-rolled dunes too gentle to notice
Upon my restlessness
my body like fleeing
Glacier over kame and kettle of cotton
Focused telescope imaging ghosts
Of stars that might be like ours
Trevor Moffa is a poet and former coal miner, park ranger, bookseller, and button pusher from Pittsburgh, PA. His poems have most recently appeared or are forthcoming in 3Elements Review, Stoneboat, Sampsonia Way Magazine, and Nimrod International Journal.