Augury

by Steve Mueske Issue: Spring 2019

 

Augury

 

We are standing like birds in the trees.

 

The searchboat's one eye sweeps the water below.

 

We are moveless in the glass moment. Neither in

 

the dream nor after. We refuse

 

to be crows. The light is gestural:

 

a query. It commits to the idea

 

of the camera, admits a certain pragmatism

 

may be necessary. We are a human number.

 

When we lift into the air, it is already February.

 

We form an eye.  When you squint we do not

 

disappear. Your hand is at your brow.

 

Either you've seen this before or have not.

 

You will climb the hill when the path appears.

 

It is March. You will look back. Looking back

 

is a gesture, like light. Like film. You will step

 

into the enfolding dark and disappear. It may be

 

a dream. A vision. A drug to help you

 

forget. A story to help you

 

remember. You might be a refugee.  

 

You might be one among many, having come

 

from the same country.  We might be

 

your family. We might be

 

all that's left of yourself.



Steve Mueske

Steve Mueske is an electronic musician and the author of a chapbook and two books of poetry. His poems have appeared in The Iowa Review, Typo Magazine, Water~Stone Review, Verdad, Crazyhorse, The Massachusetts Review, Hotel Amerika, Verse Daily, and elsewhere.