fall 2015 / Uncategorized

Hurricane Jumper 1 — Anton Jones

“Where are you?”


She always answers,

q                                        “With the wind.”

Somewhere on the brink,

somewhere in the end.


I try to give

 q    chase

q          (a flailing mass

of limbs                  hurled in the storm

q                                        as the updraft

q                                                      eviscerates my breath).


She floats from

cumulus          to nimbus


  q        where flourishing currents leave most bare.


Peaceful                    as if lightning only strikes her

to feel what it’s like to be warm,

q        vitalized

before there is control         and life clings back

q               to the        still dew in the wake.


I leap after her

q           when she finds

the emotions too complex for words,

the sentiments undiscovered        in the drifts        of open sky,

q                     and try to grasp            the sideways-rain

q         writhing in the greyest gales.


She laughs.

q          She knows

the promises I make I cannot keep,

the promises I need will not sustain

q            us, uncertain,            when life floats before       the majesty of

a hurricane           swirling.


I can’t

q          She knows

too scared to move

too excited to turn my face.

q          Blissfully,            she laughs though I’m afraid        in the midst of

a hurricane      swirling


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