A cloud turns into rain, into a lake.  


The coin of the moon becomes a rib

and then a coin again.


Think of every thunderstorm

you’ve watched and how never

once were you struck by lightning. 


I’ve been kissed by women as if they were singing hymns, 

singing blues songs,


singing like coyotes chasing their own echoes

through the mountain grass 

just before dawn, when the air


is soft and the stars are still visible,

so close you can see them stutter

but not fall.

Submitted: July 27, 2020

© Copyright 2023 Aidan Fortner. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:



A multi-colored bridge stretched across the sky after the sun has cried. Another common miracle. Nicely done! Write on!

Sat, January 30th, 2021 1:31am

Marcy Pine

Congratulations! This was wonderful!!

Sun, January 31st, 2021 4:37am

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