Perseids, August, Seven

one streaked across
madman in Missouri
drive myself mad
with learning
he said, but what then
I watch my own face
for canopied secrets, and truth
that I’ve long learned to recognize

eyes steel to resolve
resolving and steeling in blue
to revise if required
if and when and

streak cross the milky faint
backyard red ember
silent your cigarette;
halfwise acknowledge
the truth of the use and the sharing
all slantwise and staring, kind, savouring songs
abandoned from all the wrong places
kind streaking! the one we all saw in Missouri.

the wires, the wires

leaving my door open
crackdown the hall down
in eiderdown dishes
a coldness came streaking and kindly
the Perseids dance with Orion

the eiderdown dilly
sweeps milk into maddening
beauty which seeps
through the canopied places
the alcohol’s driving those
dances we’ve witnessed
all under the oiling
paint that was peeling
and kneading and shrieking
and comfortly streaking
critique of her every move
watch her pass over me
circled the doorway
blockaded with books again
Nottingham treehouse forever
we’ll build away
safety’s in numbers but
surety’s certainly only and lonely
look under the tabletop
fiddle-dee mourning
with bagpipes at sunset
one silently streaking
if only she’d channel it
dearly beloved, we’re gathered here daily
for milkweed and candlewax
curious crust we’ve seen

no one’d believe her if
ever she told them
but tens of the thousands
were dancing the daylight
away from the ashen trees
churchyards and stonewalls
encircled by everything
they understood


Allison Boyd can usually be found teaching English, staring at the ceiling, or watering heat-stricken jasmine vines. Allison’s work has appeared in The Penwood ReviewNibble, and Eunoia Review.

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