A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
Finally, a small wind to move the curtains.
Hot in this upstairs room. Outside,
the dogs sleep on the cool concrete floor
of the garage. I don’t know why I’m thinking
of you just now. Why you appeared
in my mind like a time lapse of an orchid
opening. I am naked, sperm drying on my belly.
There is a loneliness that locks the door.
Copyright 2018 Doug Anderson