Ten planes exhaled contrails, painting someone’s property lines across a sky we thought was ours. The sun surfaced, and a checkerboard shadow carved the city into hundredths before the lattice loosened and masked itself as clouds. Now we walk divided, with memory imposed upon the moment, rays wandering a graph of absent shadow, hoping to sidestep felony as we move through these unknowable territories.
Copyright © 2018 Art Zilleruelo. Used with permission of the author. This poem originally appeared in Hayden's Ferry Review, Fall-Winter 2017.