Wednesday, January 26, 2022

Sunkissed, Listless by Ash Evan Lippert

Pretend I’m here, in the grove, lilac clouds
like sleeping lion’s heads nodding

against blameless green,
breathing. Say: I am here. I am still

& now I will embrace the ebb

to thoughtlessness.
A robin sends

light branches shaking purple.
Failing petals may only

fall, paling in the wind like February
snow. Impermanent. Barely

& where am I really?

In my apartment, too real & bodied & strewn
amongst my sweat-stained

covers. Watching
the evergreens scatter their ever-green,

clover colored light bare
across my blank-stare walls.

Someone help me, I’ve forgotten how to live
here, in my time;

here, where trees reach to the sun,
unashamed of their need.

Ash Evan Lippert is a clay artist and emerging queer poet residing in the South Carolina upstate. Their work has appeared or is forthcoming in Failed Haiku and Euonia Review. They are happily at work on their first novel, and the ongoing project of parenting two "whimsical" cats. To check out more of their work, please pay them a visit

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