Between

[rejectomorph]

The sun was hanging around all afternoon, and me wearing my warm jacket. The chilly house and the breeze fluttering the leaves fooled me into thinking it would be chilly outside. At least I don't have a hoodie on under the jacket. But October does that. So does April, but April is way on the other side of winter. I ought not to think about April. Thinking how far off it is will make me sad, and today October didn't. I watched translucent, sunlit, cirrus clouds feathering across the bright blue sky, and they sent my thoughts voyaging. How many places I could be that I'm not— but today it didn't matter. The dancing trees sent light everywhere, and that was enough.




Sunday Verse

Serenade

by Kevin Young


I wake to the cracked plate
of moon being thrown

across the room—
that'll fix me

for trying sleep.
Lately even night

has left me—
now even the machine

that makes the rain
has stopped sending

the sun away.
It is late,

or early, depending—

who's to say.
Who's to name

these ragged stars, this
light that waters

down the insomniac dark
before I down

it myself.
Sleep, I swear

there's no one else—
raise me up

in the near-night
& set me like

a tin toy to work,
clanking in the bare

broken bright.