All of (Us)

Magnetism makes (al)l of us wander, collect alba weeds—will we rest here? The l(ak)e is inviting, the earthquakes are not. We’ll build a pl(az)a in La Paz. Sh(ar)e a line with six shapes. Cas(ca)des tower, rich in gold and populated by griffins. (Co)ver half the land in corn. O(ct)ober lights up all the leaves. The fur tra(de) is booming. The capitol is clou(dc)ircled much of the time, but the (fl)owers show up regardless. Alli(ga)tors and deer, too. The arc(hi)pelago in Oceania erupts every now and then. Here, if you h(id)e things in the ground, they double. This place has no h(il)ls, but it has many tra(in)s. The glacial period passed about 15,000 years ago. We’re interglac(ia)l now. Lots of roc(ks) and far less ice. Luc(ky) like a racehorse, we are. The dead live in the up(la)nds. Na(me) things short, set them sparse. The panthers are glea(md)eadly, (ma)ke loops around blue hills. The lake is (mi)les around, but far from li(mn)etic, its waters are too shroudclouded to see the catfish far(ms). The (mo)untain here is only a dissected plateau. Grizzlies drea(mt) up the triple divide in their trails; the snow came up to their k(ne)es. They ma(nh)andle granite and berry bushes. Gu(nj)etsam twists in the tide. The souther(nm)ost lands crawl with creosote. Ma(ny) of us measure snow in i(nc)hes. The Red River be(nd)s beneath the leaves. (Oh), there is a large creek in a land of canals. The trail leads into an old no(ok). M(or)e trees here. Ten tornadoes (pa)ss through here each year. A coast is an ag(ri)culture of people. An e(sc)arpment forms blue ridges. The spruces shed on Tue(sd)ays, but the ches(tn)uts are resistant to blight. Glass frames ho(tx)anthene garb. Bea(ut)y is only ever rock solid. Our joints are all dovetailed and fa(vt)ensile we climb green clouds; we wolf them. Cloisters of carbonate rocks spread (va)st. De(wv)apor settles on crumblestone. This place is very (wi)de. Sometimes it’s sno(wy) in the rockies, but only sometimes.

About abi nighthill

Abi has a BA in Poetry from Columbia College Chicago.
This entry was posted in Poetry and Nonfiction, School. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s