The ant trail of red lights stretches

south on the avenue—the longest line

is the line that moves away from you.

I dream waves sliding in the wrong

direction—a sea of aloof spins away

again. Cold hours rise from the foamy

twist. Something will happen;

something else will not happen.

Hours before: tea candle moons,

careless heads floating over glasses

& the evening in flux. Voices tumbled

from the black & red coils of night

& I saw a wish: to carry the last book

on the last train. I wake before 6—

a frigid moon pinned to the corner

of my window. Outside St. Patrick’s

Old Cathedral, black leaves jewel odd

branches, uncertain against a zero sky.


Maja Lukic is a poet based in New York City. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Salamander, The South Carolina Review, Chiron Review, Prelude, and other publications. Links to pieces online are available at, and she can be found on Twitter at @majalukic113.