When the Earth Breathed Volcanoes
We sink into truth, hold communion at a local haunt hole-in-the-wall.
After work, sometimes, I find asylum here, overtipping staff.
You sit, shambled, unfurling like grace, spooling
as if seconds peeled from a rainstorm’s end. We breathe
in volumes, the world can’t hear us over Halloween lights
spinning like vapor trails,
becomes thoughtful. I would
these hands, but, they,
bludgeoned from knowing,
from my arms.
Born in Detroit, Jacob DeVoogd lives and works in Chicago. He is a graduate of the MFA program at Western Michigan University. @JacobDeVoogd