A downpour slips beneath the

lesser rain, colorfast and

anonymous. I hold the

freshest water in my cheeks,

as though to attract your

door to summer, let it swing

loose in its harness. My mood

won’t hold its decline after

dark, this is called affection.

Maybe a sister treads beneath

the canopy of your sleep. The

rainbow’s mark is faint as

waking, rails to clinch a

gradual rumination. Will

shallows rise to any air,

bumping repeatedly against

fields plowed and flooded

that reflect your flashing sails,

behind them a sheen they

don’t yet contradict.





Andy Stallings lives, teaches, and coaches cross country running at Deerfield Academy in Western Massachusetts. His first book of poems, To the Heart of the World, came out with Rescue Press in 2014, and other poems from Paradise can be found around the internet.