To A Friend
By Austin Wallace
In every dream I hear a distant rumbling.
Maybe a cat walking on a piano.
You’ve gone but I can still feel your presence
off camera: doubtful but waiting to see what happens.
Now I can confide what I couldn’t before:
how at times I envied your terminal freedom.
These days I’m unemployed but waste gas driving
past meadows where you could have hunted arrowheads.
Between towns I wonder how we outrun our luck:
the world in all its glory stuck to you like confetti.
I roll down the window to see through your eyes:
translucent blades of grass pierce my apathy.
For moments only, I stop, step outside to breathe
in the scent of flowers here long before any man.
In the altar light before dark I listen
to the wind’s inscrutable demands.