This summer, I am keeping a collective of my writing, from drafts through revisions to the version I am willing to let live. This post is for the poem “In Roundabout Ways.”

In Roundabout Ways

Our reflections swim one over

the other, on the halos of moon

embossed in shattering glass,

blue sparks littering the scene,

something given and returned

beneath these violet canopies 

of sinking skies, of everything

being nothing all the same.

In Roundabout Ways

Our reflections swim one over

the other, on the halos of moon

floating on blue glass shattered 

and shifting on the silent street,

something given and returned

beneath these indigo canopies 

of sinking skies, of everything

here being nothing all the same.