William Bortz

How I love those enchanting things

like a moon swallowing a bay at twilight
the rocky outcrop of hills cupping this gleaming body in its palms

or the vibrant shade of green that melts through leaves when the sun bites into them
these things, beautiful, but their progression leads to loss

I could never forget their names, but the mechanics of pronouncing them—
the way I am supposed to cradle my tongue with my lips—this will escape me

and I will be but a blubbering mess discussing some puddle becoming hollow
or those shadows delicately laid across the lawn like persian rugs

no, this beauty requires a language rich enough to also cradle its impermanence
it needs rows of ivory to indicate in what direction to eulogize its imprint

the clouds, how they blush before tucking their head beneath the blanket of night
aswoon in the lust of longing—I, too, have been there

in that moment before it grows quiet


William Bortz is a writer and editor from Des Moines, Iowa. His work has been published in Luck Magazine, 8 Poems, Folded Word, Empty Mirror, The LOVEbook, forthcoming in Honey and Lime and others.