Clear Cut

a misstep
down
the ladder,

fallen

into stale
basement
airs,
breathing

woodcarver’s ennui:

the marvel of
terra-
formation

subsiding

in magmatic
exhalations

of grief.

Memorial

masked armies
savouring stillborn
conquest

flags aloft and
a thief’s mouth gnashing
atop the masthead

glimpsed from orbit
bombs mistaken for
flowers of love

navigating the anthills
of Europe
as well

will we ever
see the last
of us

Weekend

we hike through Muir amidst sequoia
and unsung bluebell.
lured by pounding Pacific, beached jellyfish
shimmering.

barefoot as clouds or scudding dreams.

as all roads slim to trails, as springs
to rivers, to oceans,
to saltless precipitate, firmly destabilized,
hungering,

as cyclones ravaging the landscape
are wont to be.

Jay Passer‘s work has appeared in print and online periodicals and anthologies since 1988. He is the author of 12 collections of poetry and prose, most recently The Cineaste (Alien Buddha Press, 2021). Passer lives in San Francisco, the city of his birth.