Poem in July

Samuel Amadon

I felt perfected along the rectangle
By its ragged side

Fences trees and mist dropping
Some space for the flowers

I set an image in my head where
Bushes in their out of focus

Made a green dearth about the door
I wanted to do a book on

Pages left in the heat or rain
But my desire seemingly disappeared

Picked up by a car in the middle of
A pack of cigarettes

This trip into the forest
The trees trading with memory to

Frame the various breaks
The pleasures of small laws cut

Behind the mower with my eyes
Running the grass blades

We don’t really get any older
I can see what that means

The Greenness of Grass Is a Positive Quality

Morning was when we decided if not for the grass rising then wind shifted the film even as your fingers said wind can’t shift film inside a camera.

What inside the camera couldn’t be shifted from grass rising to a tree without the film shifting the tree black we decided was purple with light between your fingers.

Was the tree light between your fingers?

Or was the curtain along the windowsill how we didn’t measure the width was where the wind was coming from?

Samuel Amadon

2017

Each H (II)

We are for the park, as we are for
enjoying its proximity to how
enjoying it for itself, as a park, is our

sign we are clearly thinking. On a tangent
as often as of two minds, but
then, perhaps, also another, and yet,

like pillows, I always feel I would be
more, if I could have more, which
makes me ask what gives us

over to giving ourselves, don’t end.
Don’t structure. If structure
is over, we could have had it

done. Like the seriousness become
a better secret as a secret

Samuel Amadon

2017

Pedestrian

I am a walker. I follow the sun as it angles
Into the evening on an edge where

A thoroughfare meets a hill of empty houses,
And as it spreads through back roads, I walk

Into nights—imaginary city—into nights
I walk changed, to be changed like a character

In a story I might read at the diner
On a damp morning when I don’t feel right, or

By the fire, folded into fire, days or nights
Or days again, walking with a map in

My head, a little blood in my teeth. If I walk
Out into my own block, and don’t know

Samuel Amadon

2017

Poems

Poem in July

More by this poet

The Greenness of Grass Is a Positive Quality

Each H (II)

Pedestrian

Poems

Page submenu block

Poem in July

More by this poet

Newsletter Sign Up