Skip to main content

by Philip White



gawks at gist
of night. Under

neath all
trees wet

soil fields of
weed froths of

corn merge into
one evening

green. Stars soonest
flicker days last

glimmer eyes
that are only

hers. Waft of children’s
voices laughter tiny

bells between green
earth and narrowing

sky. What nether
clarity is

this that shakes open
still air draws her

breast to mine cries she
breathes she

breathes she
is safe within my


Philip White is a junior majoring in English from Provo, Utah.