These pieces are mostly written on campus and remind me of my memories here. I hope you'll find them interesting.
The first one was written on a crispy Thursday afternoon after class in Freshman year. I'd biked over to Herter Park, where my first taste of a New England fall compelled me to enjoy the company of the dying light.
All quiet against a cheek-red sky. Hyacinths, chaste and candid, undress into the night. Fairy lights and barley.
Wild swans and ducklings brush across stained paste. Thick, unrelenting, the stroke of an arrival, Gare Saint-Lazare
once framed the same myopia in fumes. But under a maple tree, oars click like metronome, hushed hunches and bones.
Soon, evergreen frost and martyrdom lost. To write frantically and make no word — For the dying light, a plankton is a grave.
The second poem is somewhat more subtle. I think my intuition figured it out before I did.
pause faintly, thinly, when savouring ripe crop.
soothe your lips against the rill
and stoop for breath to touch. if slightly spoiled or undone,
withdraw —
lest the sour grain twice-ferments into stain.