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Summer Song

Fifty floors above the street,

you in a summer dress. Star-shaped holes in a steel chandelier

giving shape to the stars’ elsewhereness—

Or a tall flag snaps

against a sour-looking sky, and troopers sailing in by parachute

are clothespins

pinning up the sky. Or someone sets a fire

by kissing an inlaid floor of stone.

In the subway, we see an old woman

a million miles from home. The galaxies known by number

outnumbering those with names…

I marry you in the morning

and I marry you each day.

I feel the strain inside the song,

the Atlantic in the shell.

I feel a tall wind rising up to take

and bear me far away.

from Charms Against LightningFind it in the library

Copyright © 2012 James Arthur
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Copper Canyon Press.

Published in James Arthur Poems

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