Brown barn swallows nested behind the microwave this spring
now chirp radioactive, their young fall to the ground,
a slider turtle cuts through my lawn, swamp seeking, I suppose.
we snip clear nylon cords at your ankles, wrists
hold hands in a Gordian knot,
the tangled touch notwithstanding.
my blue herringbone work-shirt—the one for interviews and funerals–
hangs on the coat rack in the living room,
your sign is unknown, orphan,
I envy that grey slate and unscripted dawn,
in the evening, I describe your hips to a stranger,
though we’ve never met knew their shape by touch
and swivel.

Robert T. Krantz was born and raised in Western New York. He studied
creative writing and English Literature at both Niagara County Community
College, NY and the University of Akron, Ohio. Robert also published a chap
book of poetry and prose entitled Leg Brace Legato (2013). His work has
appeared in Akros Literary Review, Bare Fiction, Bitterzoet, the East Coast
Literary Review, Poetry Quarterly and the Watershed Review.


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