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Poetry of Issue #8        Page 48

The Sun Goes Down Beneath Molten Clouds

After the last players have left our park
this evening I step out onto the deck by myself,
and the winds are blowing a gale from the east
while the clouds are roaring westward, and I
am cold but raise my drink toward the sunset.
The winds fill the flesh beneath my jacket.

The job says there is no reason for me to be here
where I can be scooped by the monsters of the evening.
My flesh will be swallowed as yours without reason,
but tonight as if it made a difference I will howl into the wind
and if there is no one left to hear the echoes of time
bouncing off the nova stars that lent us life long ago,
still there is a naked child within me and it is cold
and it howls with the echo of its birthplace, and
somehow that is the reason that it howls
and this night the wind blows across our souls.

Jared Smith