by William Doreski

‏‏‎ ‎

A flare on a dark horizon
draws our attention inland.
Something metallic is happening,
something more primal than war.
You want to slap on a backpack
heavy with food and munitions
and hike to the edge of things,

sending back many photographs
by which I can trace contours
of fate that have long evaded you.
The flare looks yellow enough
to illuminate nether regions,
red enough to stifle the facts.
Perspective doesn’t apply

to nights of moonless agony.
You stood at the window until
the flare ignited, then rushed
to explain you had to leave.
You expected this distant event,
and planned to leave by midnight
when the salt marsh has ripened

deep into autumn and the cries
of gulls have congealed into phonics
complex enough for prophecy.
But your backpack is too heavy,
so I’ll have to share the load
and accompany you to the far
interior where hills surf over

villages rusty with moss.
Put half your goods in my pack
and let’s zero on that flare.
I don’t know how far we’ll get
before dawn stifles the landscape,
but we’ll know by the sick taste
of alloy if we’ve gotten there.

‏‏‎ ‎

© William Doreski

---

William Doreski lives in Peterborough, New Hampshire. He has taught at several colleges and universities. His most recent book of poetry is Venus, Jupiter (2023).  His essays, poetry, fiction, and reviews have appeared in various journals.

---

Share the love and wonder by making sure to respect the copyrights! Everything we publish belongs to the authors. You can share their texts via the official link. If you quote them, please credit them. If you wish to republish their work, you can always write to us and we will put you in direct contact with them. Supporting creativity starts with respecting those who create, so we thank you in advance for doing your part!