Farther spindrift smells saltiest near,
stronger than grass whose name none think ask
because it is everywhere as unrippled reflections
of you, upon you, walking there, there and again
on green blades capped just to come back,
knowing well to not call it sailing.
Cutting such wake is to mowing the lawn
one to a song, a duty to another duty,
the difference between not the hours,
the breaks, but the breadth of seeing
birds when you hear them and
hearing them for seeing birds’ sake.
About the Poet
Carson Pytell is a poet living outside Albany, NY whose work has appeared in numerous venues online and in print. His short collection, First-Year (Alien Buddha Press, 2020) and first chapbook, Trail (Guerrilla Genesis Press, 2020) are now available.
For the first time in nearly five years, Vita Brevis is closed for submission. Read the full story here.