Even the air seems
to take a breath
once the shower gives
way to a dry mercy.
The watery saxophone
and the piano’s chilly
glance speak the language
of relief, of danger
averted. They tell us
in dialogue, one speaking
respectfully after
the other that we can
sleep knowing,
we can breathe out
gladness. The world
circles a sun.
The clouds are not
still. They too whisper
to their lover in the dark
even after he is
asleep.
This poem appears in ACHE, Sibling Rivalry Press, 2017.
Joseph Ross is the author of four books of poetry, Raising King, (Forthcoming 2020 from Willow Books) Ache (2017), Gospel of Dust (2013) and Meeting Bone Man (2012). His poems have appeared in many places including The Los Angeles Times, Xavier Review, Southern Quarterly, Poet Lore, and Drumvoices Revue. In the 2014-2015 school year, he served as the 23rd Poet-in-Residence for the Howard County Poetry and Literature Society. He teaches English at Gonzaga College High School in Washington, D.C. and writes regularly at www.JosephRoss.net.
Top photo by Tomasz Sienicki, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=13380
