lift

by Ryan Sanford Smith

The mourning dove and city pigeon
are anchors on the day, sermon-grey
and backdrop to the brackish moth
with wings full of holes and a head full
of lights, gas lanterns on a shelf
blowing on and off without pattern.

The wings all go slack,
do what I do.

Corn dust winding is just noisy sunlight,
my eyes with the smell of dry wells.

The yes-men line of evergreens
in a neat row and scripted wind.

The tufts of mauled cardinal
a wind-up nation if I sit very still.

Ryan Sanford Smith is a recent graduate of the University of Notre Dame's MFA program. His work has appeared elsewhere in The Pedestal Magazine, Mannequin Envy, and Merge Poetry.