Adam Clay​

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In Like A...​

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You were a child

and you were not a child

in the next breath,

each dull star some

kind of sun you

puzzled over. A house

emptied without thought

the mind becomes,

but for what and where

did an object take on

its own life? You float

along its expanse,

know there must be

a better word for how far

it stretches loose.

Eventually the weather

hammers out a word

or two into the window,

nothing stranger

than a sentence

disconnected from

its source, a lion

so absent it

forgets its own hunger.

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