Take today. I want there
to be less
of everything—wind
& worry, of leaves
littering the ground
& love letters, addressee
unknown. Return
to sender—
this, my quarrel
with what
must be
told. No,
I insist, No.
Yet the wind won’t
go away
so easily, the stars remain
& do not grey—
the boy looking
up into them thinks
he’s seeing them first
tonight—it’s true,
here the sky & moon
do meet
in an overgrown field—
nothing here
tall enough to pretend
to reach—even him
amazed at the blue,
even you.
From Stones (Penguin Random House, 2021) by Kevin Young Copyright © 2021 by Kevin Young. Used by permission of the poet.