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3 Poems by Nathan Lipps

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After


By then hopefully

I’ll be stumbling over starlight


stray piercings of every moment

of silence erasing


what your breath felt like

from across the orchard.


Until then I push

this furniture around the room


the borrowed couch against window glass

the table where the bed once was


and the bed outside

push till it all feels right


the carpet torn

the coffee pot shattered


leaves and slugs

and other strangers


in the blankets with me

beneath these trees.

 

We Are Still Building Beach Houses


There is a streetlamp

on the ocean floor

waiting


for our small act

of consenting

to time


knowing the sudden loss

of any object

resonates for years


if a year means anything

beyond postponement

beyond asking for more


which is why water

lives inside water

and we call it a body.

 

Cost of Living


Am here with the day

and its gentle dying


the dog cleaning herself

on the couch loudly. Am thinking

of this maintenance

we've perfected.


Autumn, inevitably.

What apples remain

rotting towards something

misunderstood as waste.


There has always been enough.

Tomorrow rolls along

because of this excess


our time split by memory

spilling into a shallow ditch

because of what it takes.


Of course we exist.

We make this so

by giving ourselves

over to it.

 

Nathan Lipps is from and currently resides in the Midwest where he teaches. You can find his work at Best New Poets, North American Review, TYPO, and elsewhere. (nathanlipps.com)


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