This morning a muscular calm of ripe blue
air, strewn leaves, mountain edges sharp as wire
and sun comes on a night of rain, a thing
we reveled in, put windows wide and threw
all caution to. We’re wakened by the sting,
now, of calm, like two travelers who retire
to their hometown, who after tasting strange
climates and cultures till their cash is spent
now rediscover like a childhood friend
the view from their front porch, who are content
to watch and, changelessly, to await change
—two boulders on a field swept bare by wind.
Winner Best Poem of Issue: The Lyric, Winter 1991