after photographs by Roxana Ghita
then light deepened in the air
like breath held to be as warm as blood
the little knot of presence,
pulse in memory, melted,
and we couldn’t find….
what was it we couldn’t find?
this was “freedom”
this was “selfless”
this was “absolution”
we turned the words in our fingers
like colored pebbles,
smiling vaguely, shy,
wondering what they meant,
wondering what we had been
Two books of James Owens’s poems were published in 2007: An
Hour is the Doorway (Black Lawrence Press) and Frost Lights a
Thin Flame (Mayapple Press). He lives in New Carlisle, Indiana,
and spends as much time as possible wandering the dunes along
the south shore of Lake Michigan, though he also welcomes human
contact and maintains a blog at www.klagewelt.blogspot.com.