This Always
There never was an always like this:
luminous, the slow fall of sycamore keys;
the catch at the back of my throat
like bonfire smoke; bruises
on the petals of late roses.
I am watching this always on timelapse –
stutter and flow. This always is
parakeet-cry and evening, mirror
and reflection, the edges of broken glass
by the roadside throwing up sparks
from the headlamps of passing cars.
It is the slender rain after sunset,
some sky fleetingly lilac, peach,
above the fields on the far side of the river.
Claire Dyer, February 2025
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Claire Dyer has published four collections of poetry with Two Rivers Press. Her most recent is The Adjustments.