Arts

Mid-Day

By Wesley Houp

The lacewing takes
its place beneath
St. John’s leaf,
and I,
beneath a tree
of heaven.

We wait out
the hottest hour,
contemplating
hopelessness
that gains on all sides
then fly off
in opposite
directions
toward oblivion.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.