Published on Academy of American Poets (

Lonely Planet

You’re used to it, the way,
in the first wide-eyed
minutes, climbing from parking lot
to fire trail, or rifling through
cupboards in a rented kitchen,
I can’t help but tell you
we should visit here again,
my reverie inserting
a variation in the season,
or giving friends the room
next door, in stubborn panic
to fix this happiness in place
by escaping from it.
“We’re here now,” you say,
holding out the book I bought
with its dog-eared maps and lists
and, on the cover, a waterfall,
white flecks frozen, very close.


Copyright © 2017 by Nate Klug. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on August 23, 2017, by the Academy of American Poets.

About this Poem

“Poetry, for me, often arises from a sense of excess or paradox. I like to move and travel because I like arriving at change, but perhaps not as much as I like thinking about it.”
—Nate Klug


Nate Klug

Nate Klug is the author of Anyone (University of Chicago Press, 2015). 

Date Published: 2017-08-23

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