Spring In Remission
by Noah Gordon
I’m thinking of the shy way
you walked toward the treeline,
and how we talked about the oldest
Cave in Illinois,
how they boarded it up after a blind child wandered in one afternoon.
I’d later return to that day
to study the architecture of the thickets and brambles.
I’d say let’s slow down,
our thoughts are getting ahead of our mouths,
like how the sun is getting ahead of this evening
sinking behind the crooked skyline,
trotting away like its embarrassed
that it ever showed its stupid face
in the first place.