Causality (II)
Himeji-shi, Japan

The lights of the train
trouble through the dark, 
breaking south across 
rice paddies and overpasses. 
In the fields cricket-sound 
eagers into the wedge of wind 
and widens itself around you 
like a parade. You leave out 
details when your friends remark 
on distances and climates 
and their collision. It is easier 
to believe in local definitions: 
a lunar elevation borrowing light 
and angry with low-smog above 
the threshold of apartment buildings 
and neon advertisements. 
Perhaps, that it is easier to be alone. 
At one time you were able to measure 
your love for another as restless. 
Joslyn standing on her toes 
to kiss you, the rope of her clavicle 
drawn as she minced rosemary 
on a stained cutting board. 
Behind you now an empty room 
waits like a beaten dog for you 
to return, offering nothing 
but its company. You stop and turn 
and the topic of stars are meager, 
dull with their observations 
of the day-to-day. Another train 
plummets down its steel, this time 
north toward bamboo laddered hills. 
You follow, slowly, back.

​JORDAN MOUNTEER is a self-professed nomad-poet who enjoys hitch-hiking, camping, and communal dinners. His work has been published in The Malahat Review, The Antigonish ReviewArcPrairie SchoonerGrain. Most recently his poems have appeared in The Dalhousie ReviewExistere, and PRISM international where he won the 2014 Poetry Prize. He is currently in South East Asia somewhere. Probably writing werewolf romance novels to pay the bills.
The Adirondack Review