After we step obliquely Through the high grass And touch the light Tipping the catkins In gold smoke, We will follow What remains Of the night cricket’s voice To that pool of dark water Where radium still burns The hands of children.
I’m ending my life On an evening just like this. Days from now, maybe years, Taking my sorrows and nonchalantly Walking into the subway’s path, Or going out, twenty-below, And courting the black eye of snowdrifts. I’m leaving no notes Or hints of disappearance. Maybe ending in the utter hush Of ice and darkness, Or with that sudden bang That will burst my head Like a ripening fruit.
Bio: Seth Jani currently resides in Seattle, WA and is the founder of Seven CirclePress (www.sevencirclepress.com). His own work has been published widely in such places as The Coe Review, The Hamilton Stone Review, Hawai`i Pacific Review,VAYAVYA, Gutter Eloquence and Gravel. More about him and his work can be found at www.sethjani.com.