I am going to the sun,
he shouts, with a vein-based
heart. Lift and move it
like bags no longer needed.
Looking up, I see the aisle
ahead, the architecture
of lonely souls en route,
as upturned heads view
a mausoleum dome,
where angels kiss foreheads,
across an ear, along hairlines
of goodbyes.
We do it to ourselves. Wrested
inside longing, fumble-footed
as brush along the path,
across the vale of tears, ridge
of jeans, butt of canyon,
promised land, peace.
We drop our bags
like taking a bow and enter
the moving walkway.
About the Poet
Jan Wiezorek writes from forests, lakes, and gardens in southwestern Michigan. His poetry has appeared in The London Magazine, Minetta Review, Modern Poetry Quarterly Review, Broad River Review, Flint Hills Review, Grey Sparrow Journal, and Caesura Online, among others. He wrote Awesome Art Projects That Spark Super Writing (Scholastic, 2011) and taught writing at St. Augustine College, Chicago.
For the first time in nearly five years, Vita Brevis is closed for submission. Read the full story here.
Vita Brevis Press. 