Like the rim of a dog’s eye,
near blue moon cutting
a slip of clouds. A nest,
a bare shoulder of stars:

a flood is on the way
& so little is clear. When
you ask if I dream, I say
the truth: no. What I

recall from night is
tangled in the uneasy
rising of a new day. No
need to fiddle in my sleep

as well. When I wake,
it’s clear the season’s
changing, suspended
between two stories:

pink swarm of cherry petals
rushed off their buds,
flashes of green stems
in rain just before dawn.

Photo by Anastasia Taioglou on Unsplash

Dave Harrity

Dave Harrity's writing has appeared in Verse Daily, Ninth Letter, Mid-American Review, Copper Nickel, Hotel Amerika, Softblow and elsewhere. His most recent book is Our Father in the Year of the Wolf (Word Farm, 2016). Dave is a recipient of an Emerging Artist Award and an Al Smith Fellowship from the Kentucky Arts Council.