john grey




Pull the shade
on the mountains
and they're still there nevertheless,
in mist, in cloud, in plain blue sky,.
There's no trick to it,
We haven't made the scenery disappear.
Sure I pointed
as if my finger had something
to do with those rocky crags
and you sighed
to speak up for the role
its feels like your awe plays
in dramatizing landscape.
But my finger's on your breast now,
your sighs talk erogenous,
aren't even speaking
to your eyes.
But the mountains
aren't reliant on the third orgasm of the night
to keep the wind from blowing them away.
Open the shades,
they'll still be there,
towering, snow-covered, absolute.
The earth did not move for either of us...
another trick exposed.

John Grey is an Australian born poet, US resident since late seventies. He works as financial systems analyst. Recently published in Slant, Briar Cliff Review and Albatross with work upcoming in Poetry East, Cape Rock and REAL.

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