The corona is a studium of snow; bared boughs
puncta of the upper slopes. Apposite of no-go
I’m in an old Corolla and els will have to stand in:
cannot reach the crown of the high mystic hills
except in mind’s eye. They’ll stay mythic.
And now I see the high rail—the el—and I’ve gone
scraping up a metropolis when I wanted only
the image of distant snow on Mount Dean Stone.
And how is he, our friend down on the gulf coast. My home state
distant. Last we heard the hurricane mist him.
He sent photos. Said just windy and wet.
And how is he, no stone, down there.
And how am I up here. Home. Everywhere
is an image I project myself onto
except myself, onto which I project everywhere. Namely
here. Up here. And the transit, the distance
covered like the click of a shutter
shuttling over the clack of tracks,
the in between, the taking in of
what’s just out of reach.
Lauren Tess’s poetry appears or is forthcoming in Poetry Northwest, Salamander, Nimrod, Meridian, Cimarron Review and elsewhere. She is the recipient of a 2021 Open Mouth Poetry Residency in Fayetteville, Arkansas. Lauren currently lives in Missoula as she pursues an MFA at the University of Montana. WEB TWITTER INSTA
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