SUMMER AFTER THE APOCALYPSE
The sun blazes on, brilliant
and unsympathetic as the last genius,
while the birdsong is unwavering
in its hopefulness. I occasionally turn
to the empty chair beside me
to comment on the glory of the weather
before I remember.
I measure hunger by the length
of shadows crawling the silent grass,
untrusting of my own sensations
without time to validate them.
Perception fogs like morning mist
gathering a sigh upon the lake
until I doubt everything but the sanity
of alternating light and darkness, vigilant sentries
imposing order. I track the days
though unsure to what end,
empty office buildings somewhere cracking
and crumbling, gnarled like old trees.
The calmness of water
is the only logic I can find, waves consoling
as they brush my feet to tell me
this is not the first or last
great fall they have witnessed.
Josh Stewart is the author of two poetry chapbooks, Temptation as a Technical Difficulty (Anstruther Press) and Invention of the Curveball (Cactus Press). His work has appeared in Vallum, Descant, The New Quarterly, Grain, The Antigonish Review, Carousel, Prairie Fire, (parenthetical), CV2, Existere, and others.