by Glen Armstrong
From space there is nothing
of interest here,
only reflected light interrupted
by a satellite,
no yellow rose petals
defying the rain,
defying change and expectation,
vibrating, shaking.
•
I bunker down and listen
to the thunder
cloud’s pedantic rumble:
I am the sky – expect me to fall.
Glen Armstrong (he/him) holds an MFA in English from the University of Massachusetts, Amherst and edits a poetry journal called Cruel Garters. His poems have appeared in Conduit, Poetry Northwest, and Another Chicago Magazine.