The National Poetry Review
John Nieves
SUFFUSE
At the edge of this field, I can feel the almost
snow. I can feel the radio waves and cell
signals passing through me. In my left hip,
a lonely g-chord and a falsetto I love you. Across
my collarbone, distant siblings say good
night. I stop none of it. The only thing that can’t
pass through me is the moonlight. My feet keep it
from the soil which doesn’t need it much. The cold
ground is hard enough I don’t even leave
a footprint. Like everyone else, I am barely
here. There is no wind. The air is the kind of quiet
that almost feels like sleep. And sleep is as everywhere
as the air, the night, the memories there is no one left to.
JOHN NIEVES has poems forthcoming or recently published in journals such as: Copper Nickel, 32 Poems, Harvard Review, Massachusetts Review and North American Review. His first book, Curio, won the Elixir Press Annual Poetry Award Judge’s Prize. He is an Associate Professor of English at Salisbury University and an Editor of The Shore Poetry. He received his M.A. from USF and my Ph.D. from the University of Missouri.
The National Poetry Review 