The World Just Now, Emerging


after the storm and the stillness that came before, we make our way down to the river, past the autumn burn pile and the first stirrings of the birds in the apple tree— he untangles himself from his winter woolens and lopes ahead, having known too much of paradise to resist cold’s threat, his back a fevered kite tearing down the pale field: for each of his steps two of my own, heavy through the crisp lip of snow as if a haul from some deep well, and I wonder if it will always be this way, he forging ahead as I lose sight in the gray tangle of creeper and paper birch— calling his name as if he were miles away and not a few paces, reckless in my panic as I thrash through the brush, afraid he will not wait, afraid I will leave him, waiting

LEAH SILVIEUS is a poet and writer currently based in Sag Harbor, N.Y. and Miami, Fla. Her chapbook, Anemochory, is forthcoming from Hyacinth Girl Press Fall 2016. You can visit her here.