J.C.Wright, August, 2016

Roots stick out from red clay.

I forget about my dream.

After rain, clouds tiptoe away.

Number 87 slides

off the track, back wheels

aflame. Happy 4th.

Hercules lying around —
stars spread out on night's

velvet pool of spilt ink.

Taking a tick off Alex's neck,

dragon smoke floats across

tree tops before rain.

The rain insists on its own

sentences. Its tattered hum

drums the bird-filled trees.

Fairy wand beside the path.

I wish for forever.

Crows gathering at dusk.


Swan never hurries.
I too have no place to be.
Chokeberries falling.

After last night’s rain
a slew of mushrooms sets up
big tops on the lot.

The wind must like me.
Only my hat blows away
chasing umbrella.

Moon grows a white beard,
mist, wispy around its chin.
We must be mirrors.

Under the empress tree,
black butterfly between leaves
come to hear me play.


Parasol mushrooms,
caps atilt, make a grand show
waltzing with the moon.

Ants carry a dead moth
away in tiny pieces.
No time to quibble.

Lattice wings outspread,
a dragonfly has transpired.
Infinity sighs.

Across the river,
tallest steeple in Greenpoint.
Your dress teases a breeze.

Goose poop on sidewalk,
green goop. Watch your step, silly.
Don’t make up small fibs.

Woken by a bad dream,
I am not an imposter.
The Express whistles.