Noumenon

The bed was thus, the curtains were therefore.
The moon floated past the window frame
and appeared to be. Fans roared as softly as.
A blue light becoming, or a wind
unlike anything outside.
Or a memory of, but less than.
In other words, a fine dust settling on the dust ruffle.
Released from memory. Released into remembering.
Motor coach and reservoir, children and fools.
The pasture being itself, in other words, midnight, perfume.
Schopenhauer breathing into a paper bag.
Sequins, rutabaga, emerald hills.
Burj Khalifa and a feeling
that in a moment anything could.
That the clouds might.
4:00 p.m. Al Ain: what to say?
Or your voice, the risk of. And rebar.
Then traffic, rushing as if it could stop.
Sure it could.
The noise, the ticking. Noise,
noise, boom. You letting go
was unlike. You leaving
was nearly like.

Cindy King is the author of Zoonotic (Tinderbox Editions), Lesser Birds of Paradise (Southeastern Louisiana State University Press) and Easy Street (dancing girl press). Her poems have appeared in The Threepenny Review, The Sun, Prairie Schooner, Gettysburg Review, Cincinnati Review, and elsewhere. You can hear her work on the NPR podcast, The Slowdown. She is an associate professor of creative writing at Utah Tech University and the faculty editor of Route 7 Review and The Southern Quill. She also serves as an editorial associate at Seneca Review.