ANCHOR

​

by cate lycurgus

​

​

there was no future to speak of.

even the race there

 

was cancelled. as was all flying

east—we didn’t have

 

a machine for that—so suspended 

for hours in window

 

seats, as light hit each river &

runnel, we watched shine

 

pass aqueduct to gulley, coursing

the country’s veins. it might

 

falter a minute in cloud till

some gulch takes the hand

 

off—: body of water to body.

& who doesn’t want now

 

—a once ugly word—to relay

unchanged? I am redbud &

 

purple out from nothing.

the blue. ribbons

 

wave a length away so I crouch

for the blind transfer

 

patient—like dried limas huddle,

soaked—see, this is

 

the moment. same as if I had

already met you

 

& I would have nothing to say.

time to break. no

 

distance to make up—imagine:

our mouths, already

 

placed