after Frank Stanford—

If a mountain were to rush
out of the boot-black night

I’d come unthreaded
trying to give it a name
worth forgetting

and the summer is too devastating
for your ankles not to see it

your ankles make me wish
I’d practiced archery
even once in my own disastrous life

no I wouldn’t mind being crushed
by something

whose only act is to be seen
without recognition
or delight

 

⊡ ⊡ ⊡

Dalton Day is a terrified dog person and an editor for FreezeRay Poetry. His work has been published or featured in Hobart, Jellyfish, The Millions, and Banango Street, among others. He is the author of the collection Supernova Factory, as well as Fake Knife, which is forthcoming from FreezeRay Press. He can be found here and on Twitter at @lilghosthands. Basically, he thinks everything is cute and won’t stop crying about it.