Even the air seems

to take a breath

once the shower gives

way to a dry mercy.


The watery saxophone

and the piano’s chilly

glance speak the language

of relief, of danger

averted. They tell us

in dialogue, one speaking

respectfully after 

the other that we can

sleep knowing,

we can breathe out

gladness. The world

circles a sun. 

The clouds are not

still. They too whisper

to their lover in the dark

even after he is

asleep.

This poem appears in ACHE, Sibling Rivalry Press, 2017.

Joseph Ross is the author of four books of poetry, Raising King, (Forthcoming 2020 from Willow Books)  Ache (2017), Gospel of Dust (2013) and Meeting Bone Man (2012). His poems have appeared in many places including The Los Angeles Times, Xavier Review, Southern Quarterly, Poet Lore, and Drumvoices Revue. In the 2014-2015 school year, he served as the 23rd Poet-in-Residence for the Howard County Poetry and Literature Society. He teaches English at Gonzaga College High School in Washington, D.C. and writes regularly at www.JosephRoss.net.

Top photo by Tomasz Sienicki, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=13380

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