new poem

For Longing [Cyanotype Blue]                                                           
Christen Mattix

I sit still
in hopes of running
into you.  All night
and all day
I never stop calling
your name, hovering
like incense caught
in my hair.

Your absence fills the sky
like contrails, stretches out
as a shadow at sundown.

The stupid distractions, tire tracks
cut across my internal landscape

I touch catkins,
measure the sky
between each leaf,
watch the swallow scissor its way
from roof to lawn, leaving an invisible line,
decipher silence.

Unwrapped your gift and carefully preserved
your fingerprints stuck
to the tape like mushroom
spores or the dust
of a moth wing.