SOMETHING LIKE CALM DRIFTING
The economy of that transaction is your supply to my demand, but in the lingering evening when an anticipatory rush will take a steady fingertip at buttons if we are to coin an expression of ourselves anew, indelible, invested as we are in each other. Xylophone radiators swallow their hammers, birds in the eaves go for the cheap, worry worn threadbare, undeniable, and there is no traversing love without wearing dimes thin and finding hard footing, but the curve of your shoulder by clock radio light is a constant interest. Something like calm drifting in imminent quietude redistributes the wealth we tax from each other during daylight in the digital never setting sun.
Paul Doty is a librarian at St. Lawrence University. He has published poems in places like Mississippi Review, Speckled Trout Review, Nerve Cowboy, Shot Glass, and Stone Canoe.