JAMES CROAL JACKSON

TIME ALREADY TOLD

I say I miss you– I do– at what point does it become
redundant? I slept in your bed then it was
illusion, like the night, sun shifting angles into morning

delusion. I fear this will morph, too, this distance,
and render us unrecognizable, our living
in new homes, new moths to sort

from boxes. I am trying to locate the words
that conjured the blue magic that brought us
there, the honey we shared playing Jenga

on patios, wooden towers built only to collapse
under false expectations of longevity.


THE SUDDEN, INTANGIBLE HEART

a dragonfly
dangled wing
above the pool

early morning
ballads on repeat
the mind

a mimosa
an old record player
pure sugar

champagne
umbrella
in the wind

rain
in the cups
a little left 


JAMES CROAL JACKSON: (he/him) has a chapbook, The Frayed Edge of Memory (Writing Knights Press, 2017), and poems in Columbia Journal, Rattle, and Reservoir. He edits The Mantle Currently, he works in the film industry in Pittsburgh, PA.

More From James: WEBSITE

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