And an icy tower was rising out of the sea. A wingless man was
filling a bag with pickaxes and asking for directions
to our house. The moon was expanding like a balloon and
I was worried it might go pop. I could already
see through it and there was nothing inside, no bibles or yolk of
wedding rings. A wax sedan was melting on the hill
and we were the two lovers in the back seat, the spools of
our hair twisting like wicks. Below us, berries
clustered together like dead stars. And we were both still hungry.
Zack Strait is pursuing his PhD at Florida State University. His poems have recently appeared in Poetry, Slice, and West Branch and are forthcoming in Ploughshares, The Common, and Poetry East.