Overlook Outlook
_____________________________________________

That 25-mile-an-hour morning / he warned off eerie silence
saying that his asteroid was not / my asteroid anymore.
Day had crashed into / the false sun. Smoke forests
thinned; a crane cry broke / over my face; it broke open
the water he had become a tourist of—

Sky went flashing through / a hundred photos of mind.
Also, the debris of a planet / never formed fell
into our catch of cold voices. / Just now a meteorite
auditioned our decision / on a treeless bluff. I went
thinking through my eyeholes—

At the crater edge / tiny tundra birds eat loose metal
shattered from shade / once frozen to rock. Its iron
is slow as broke; its slowness / cures getting near.
He did not recognize any / thing empty anymore than
the matter I’ve made myself

by Christine Hume, from Alaskaphrenia, New Issues Poetry & Prose

New Issues Poetry & Prose, Western Michigan University, Dept. of English,
1903 W. Michigan Ave., Kalamazoo, MI 49008-5331
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