.Cold Clouds
.
Blue armada of cold clouds
carrying the false report
of my death, please, turn around
and paddle out of the bay
of my sky here. Same to the cricket.
But let’s be real. Its threnody
is really a mating call. The louder
I am I rub my legs I strum
my comb the more you want me
is how that works because I don’t care
how cold the clouds are anymore
I have sailed through them
in my origami spaceship I have melted
the faces of my family of origin
a house fire on the mantle
piece above the wood-burning stove.
.
Casting on the Campus Lawn
.
There is an order
for labs to be drawn
.
downstream
I am so down
.
these days I forget
what day it is
.
I miss my appointment.
Wade into
.
my stream of blood
and flick the rod, flyfishing
.
above the campus lawn.
Every timeline more
.
vivid to me now than my own
lifting over the cold
.
water’s hug, my son’s blue
weighted blanket
.
I am so blue these days
I feel so weighted.
.
Cameron Morse (he, him) is Senior Reviews editor at Harbor Review and the author of eight collections of poetry. His first collection, Fall Risk, won Glass Lyre Press’s 2018 Best Book Award. His book of unrhymed sonnets, Sonnetizer, is forthcoming from Kelsay Books. He holds an MFA from the University of Kansas City-Missouri and lives in Independence, Missouri, with his wife and three children. For more information, check out his Facebook page or website.
.
North of Oxford 