Devin Johnston: Edges

1

One could fall asleep and float
a hundred miles off course,
or rob a restaurant in broad daylight,
or weep openly on the air.

Contretemps could snap the line
that anchors date in memory,
uproot the smell of eucalypts,
or debauch a shadow from its leaf.

Mockingbirds from Texas range
no farther north than this
chill suburb in which we sit
talking of where to go in Spring.

2

Fear derives its force
from love: its own effect,
love radiates
from where I am
to where I'm not.

It amplifies, a hooded wave
racing through the dark.

3

On bare walls
the daylight rings
changes of
intensity;

everything
is on its way
to somewhere else
but walls.

Across an inland
sea of grass,
nothing stops
the sun

but cinder blocks
and cottonwood.
I wonder where
you've been.