Dreaming That My Legs Won’t Move, I Think of Debts

By Robert Okaji


And all of our losses,
fallen like acorns to be gathered and
buried for safe keeping in the hours
when laughter fails and eyes close.
My blood is a tense whisper
and I remain half, which is of course
false. You drift across the scuffed
boards and light the candle,
snuffing one darkness, sparking
a second, opening a new quiet behind
yet another shade. What blurs
yesterday more than tomorrow?
Accepting my place, I observe the unlighted
corner, look for movement, wait.

Robert Okaji no longer lives in Texas, where he once won a goat catching contest. The author of five chapbooks, his work has appeared or is forthcoming in Dormiveglia, Vox Populi, Ethel, Slippery Elm and elsewhere.


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