If like a bird and also like stained glass

you gather fragments of yourself and the earth


to make a landscape that is your life, what part of you

comes out whole? What is there to come out of


but some mother figure that we desire to crawl inside?

Honey jars and lavender soap; wine rack


and crystal stemware; polished silver and elaborately

carved wood trim. The heart is pieced together


with imagined worth of a lover. How many

pieces can a life break into – I don’t know.


Goodbye comes as a hammer of grief and also like nothing.

You are gone and everything went with you.


All I feel is the empty space where fragments once met.

rusty boat yard.jpg


                                               ARCHETYPE OF ENDLESS GUILT


                        The parade of cars


motor through the mountains


headlights in a blurred line of light


toward the city,


                        orbit the off ramps


with the silent annotation of stars.


                        Steam from city factories


a breath


of nebula


                        the distant color of chemicals


in flux.


                        Ions of bonding and breaking


travel eons just to die in your eye.


Earth is the last drop


from a drinking canteen


mixed among the many specks


of a dust storm:


the drop thinks there is another




man out there


with a swollen belly of her.


ROBERT EVORY is a creative writing fellow at Syracuse University. He is the Poetry Editor for Salt Hill and the co-founder and managing editor for The Poet’s Billow. He earned his Bachelor degrees from Western Michigan University in Creative Writing and Music. His poetry is featured or is forthcoming in: Spillway, Spoon River, The Baltimore Review, Redactions: Poetry & Poetics, CURA, Pennsylvania English, Nashville Review, Wisconsin Review, Sierra-Nevada Review, Water~Stone Review, and elsewhere.