by Anya Millard
there, where the land meets the sky in a swath of dusty-gray.
here, where this cement step hangs just above oblivion
in the next moment; a sensation of tipping over and
there, where a golden reflection finds me ten miles away
here, where a hawk makes circles in the sun’s cooling light
In this moment; all i know is this endless world of
its all: place time memory
until it’s: Place. Time. Memory.
To be alive and feel not of this earth
at the octagon next to senior green.