Field Note

a new poem

Field Note

Lilacs, chlorine, manure.
I walk through the coiled scent,
headless, a figment of early summer.
In the white and yellow wildflowers
bunched beside Fish Creek—
quick water hissing over rough stone slabs—
no thought churns. Like the dragonfly 
leaving a blue streak
suspended in its wake, I’m nothing 
but a raw nerve receiving a world.