by Nathan Lipps
Collapsed along the shore of Lake Michigan.
Wave and sand arriving
within each other and the sound of negotiation.
Blades of grass deciding upon nothing.
Wind because of wind.
Learning to wrangle a little love from this new death
toss it out into the shallows
watch it blossom alongside minnows and duckweed
bleached-out plastic bottles, remnants of a diaper
and the broken reflection of something familiar.
Nathan Lipps is a poet & editor living in Ohio where he teaches creative writing and English courses at Central State University. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Best New Poets, Colorado Review, North American Review, Third Coast, TYPO, and elsewhere. nathanlipps.com
Ovenbird Poetry 