By: Adam Day
Muted Janpe
Boats step through ice, geese
barking and dark water
under a shelf of snow.
Saturn’s rings become
the cast-iron balcony
of a house seen
from everywhere.
Nice how night
shrinks life.
Gompa
The aspen is not
a tree. Cliff martin
has the moon
in its throat. Flood
rain banked
in the channel ditch;
red spores of mud water.
Plumes of exhaust
torn away
in brake light..
Adam Day is the author of the collection of poetry, Model of a City in Civil War (Sarabande), and the recipient of a PSA Chapbook Fellowship for Badger, Apocrypha, and of a PEN Emerging Writers Award. His work has appeared in APR, Denver Quarterly, Boston Review, Kenyon Review, Lana Turner, Iowa Review, and elsewhere. He directs The Baltic Writing Residency in Sweden, Scotland, Blackacre Nature Preserve, as well as the Stormé DeLarverie residency for underrepresented writers He also edits the forthcoming literary and culture magazine, Action, Spectacle.
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