When all we have is song
to fill the space between us,
the feather of each note,
frail flight of melody, a flock
murmuring from my chest,
I let go, sing distance and space
into shapes you might hold
in your mind, birds that form,
fragment, coalesce and flee.
This moment of rest, a dream,
to be unburdened, a wish,
briefly. Out of my mouth,
they glide around the room,
your breath, soft as moth wings
on night air, what memory sings
in places we no longer can.
Cameron Aveson is originally from Southern California but moved to the Central Valley almost twenty years ago when he started working for Kings Canyon National Park as a trail worker. He lives in the foothills east of Fresno with his wife and 18 month-old daughter. His work has appeared in journals and magazines such as Crab Creek Review, Blood Orange Review and Foothill: a journal of poetry.
A literary and art journal
from the MFA community at
Antioch University Los Angeles.
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