Madeline Medensky


Don’t watch the falling light skewed amber
like comet tails pulled under the regular earth sky.
People are outside their cars looking up
and trees mop the darkness with wet strand-like swabs.
Green expires to blue,
the tail-like spin dims to the ample part of new flight.


more like it.
Your eyes
more like it.


and the whole world folds,
Their heads knotted together
and the car’s radio
silent. Phone pocketed,
or piled in the
driver’s seat,
but don’t watch this

because you’ll leave.
And stay awhile because you won’t.

How high trees puncture, and quips of owls
echo (figure unseeable), and the flat, bodiless
beach makes sound on sound.
Flares of light spring in the sky,
falling to water glass-like, undeterred and burning.
The new watchers pay their fare

for the night,
then leave.
It’s an easy retreat of sound and light and us,
all whole-entire, pried open,

then at peace.