Threshing Out Time
All those nights before you left,
the wild resolutions of wind in the hay.
Now the trussed and spaced-out bales
are the ﬁeld getting packed and walking away.
Red Light on Palm
Sunset. The heavy stink of lounging seals
is a layer of sand on my nose and tongue.
A dolphin performs its moon-arch cartwheels
between two elements. We sit among
these indifferent wonders on a blanket,
facing the painted Paciﬁc. San Diego.
Our child swelling in your belly. Each rung
of the ﬂamed clouds a line in sanskrit
I can’t translate. Forget the demands of ego.
Forget like the painted sea forgets itself
and the color that made it luminous a second ago.
To freeze transience is the duty of the poet
but that is more curse than instruction. A shelf
of ﬁre disappears into whatever the sea conceals.
I’ll tell my child, it’s through absence that God reveals.
I’ll tell him: whenever something vanishes, thank it.
ALEXANDER MILLER JR. is a staff writer for The Curator and the co-author of A Bow From My Shadow, a collection of poems written in dialogue with poems by Luke Irwin. His essays and poems have appeared in The Millions, The Conversation, Transpositions, Pif, The Curator, The Denver Syntax, Lake Effect, and Kenagain. He is a Lecturer in Western Literature at Gordon College in Wenham, MA, and an English and Rhetoric teacher.