The windows have vanished again the glass
evaporating —all you see is out
through, past, forward, the tree the wall the sky
shut tight with night screwed down; the birds have gone
to sleep I guess it’s all a still picture
holding its breath and the low light has wiped
away the window panes so it’s all right
here—I couldn’t touch a thing at dinner
flavor, as if my mouth had lost its way
of tasting and nothing I said made sense—
cotton between my tongue and the table
—the thrush makes it so all I do is think
of my mouth and what’s outside.
Read more of Noah Stetzer’s poetry.
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Photo by Rey Sharks/Flickr