The Visitor

Rachel Pfost-Stevens

 

Words on a page, I heard him say,
Flowing beyond rippling edges.
And nothing sounds like the sighing sunset streetcar procession
Moving slowly toward the gleaming vernal rooftops,
At the end of Grove Street.
I see how you’re able to write the days away,
Coming home with words spilling out your pockets
And a song under your breath.
I always hear you coming.

Euphemism Campus Box 5555 Illinois State University Normal, IL 61790