JULIA JOHNSON

September

Listen to this, wondering, the smooth casing
on the vowel sound as it voices out.
Except when there is no one, a light
flashes down the side of a cliff, a lost appearance
in a million. It is easy to recognize that the cabinetry
of stiff gods is too much like something seen
under cloud, like a frog’s heavy gallantry
easing into the sentence. When half-full,
our mouths make the unrecognizable shape
we see in darkness, too soon there.
This tells us what we may not know, pastured
in the span of a likeness, of gravel, leads us to
what we find one afternoon,
what we find wading, in the dim waters,
while listening.  

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