A Poem by Adam Clay - Believer Magazine

Go Birding

Daylight ran short.
When’d the moon

show up? said someone
and then everyone. Inside

now the ocean feels a tug,
and the greenery

nailed to the door
stays green

long past its prime,
expiration date

expired. One could
inject anything into

the small-talk
of evening, but what

can’t be taken back
is the breath taken

with no thought.
Every sky turns

its back at last, no
applause needed. One

only demands that which
can’t couple for nothing.

 

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