• Cameron Lowe


Press the button and the heavens

unfold, stars chasing stars, silence


spreading, childish delight as illusion

summons presence, the weight


of night. And so conceived the mind

sways toward sleep, skin suddenly


abstract to touch, words whispered,

lingering, for the listener to pick apart.


You will feed this dissonance, this

failing art, the body’s cruel admission


that close is never close enough.

Tonight the hunting pack is loose,


the sane suburb gleaming with snow

and ice—a full moon flooding


the frozen lake, crowning brooding pines,

the frenzied cries of the hunt, the kill.


Quiet, let the night huntsman fly you,

let the stars once more unwind.