there’s a hole in the rain
through it you can see your birth
it’s blank I’m walking with
an itch on my shoulder
with a walking stick
birds carry your arrival string it
over the trees plague years
do you know how many times I’ve heard you
times I covered myself are the birds
hung like ornaments still covered
with you clamped down on a branch
lights in trees line the path your birth
sudden soak that rains from plague years your cover
over the house black clouds deliquesce
never got the order right it’s blank
my coverage of you contained in you blank
I’m sitting with breathing with you
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As a child, on interstate trips, Lewis LaCook (he/him) thought the moon was following his family’s Econoline van. Upon reaching adulthood, he couldn’t tell whether the truth disappointed or relieved him, so he started writing things down. His poems have appeared in journals like Otoliths,Unlikely Stories, Whiskey Tit, Lotus-eater, Synchronized Chaos, Argotist Online Poetry, and Medusa’s Kitchen, among others. His collection My Kinship with the Lotus-eaters was published in 2022 by BlazeVOX. Lewis can often be found wandering the wilds of Western New York state with his wife Lindsay.