Dusk
Simmering, golden light,
Fleeting,
Weighting the small world.
Even gnats absorb it
To become something more
Than mortality,
Dust motes that swirl of their own volition.
Spears of green
Reach skyward, some leaning,
Still with adoration.
There’s a mirage in the fan of water
Flung deliberately,
The reliable sound of the sprinkler.
Air smells cool without forgetting
The warmth of fading day.
The way grass was proud
And insects
Were living constellations.
Copse
My fingers explored your body,
fragile spider legs
leaving trails of gossamer strands.
As the heavy fog of fall hangs,
I smell crumpled leaves,
your hair.
The cool of your skin in the overgrown grass,
untouched, perfect,
like the glittering orbs of dew.
Your mouth a surprise,
a frightened bird in the underbrush.
Your nails drew me to the present,
as the clouds remind me of your eyes,
slowly transitioning, milk white.
An eternal gaze,
something like devotion,
and you are there always
Lying like a vigil
in my unseen heart,
long tangled in the overgrowth.
Jordan Smith-Zodrow graduated from Seattle Pacific University with a BA in English. Her poetry has previously appeared in Gap Tooth. She can be reached at jsmithzodrow@gmail.com.