Mennonite Poetry Home | Leonard Neufeldt



Cresent Lake

Small crossings of dreams
on the windshield
riding down, separating,
seeking something more —
the swerve sudden as the night
narrowing the unstriped road
and bending an invisible
margin of shore.
Trees lean our way
in the headlights. And distance?
With only these beams
tracing the start of the next curve,
not even a dark mouth of water.
We see nothing more
than a half-rondure of wipers
edging the rain
and the night’s real work.
How long is a moment of blackness
that will not end?
You sitting up with me

I had imagined the sound
of small streams falling
to the earth out of the night
and on the other side
catspaws of ripples running
shoreward, spreading themselves
under a mantle of stars

You sitting up, watching —
so much unknown nearness

©Leonard Neufeldt. Event, Vol. 47 (2018).




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