The brightest stars burn beyond my fence,
a world beyond the length of my arms.
Both my age and the weather are growing colder.
Still, there’s a local breeze on fig leaves,
a duet of birds, a dance of butterflies—
a wannabe paradise whose fruit
never falls beyond the chain link,
whose bountiful summers feel cold.
I could stay here in the peace that accepts,
watch the dying sun go down in steaming flames,
knowing while there are days left
that it will rise again in a familiar place.
Yet I dream of wings with streams of winter vapor,
dream my feathered arms fly warmly with them
to the far edge of starlight.
Robert S. King edits Good Works Review. His poems appear widely, including Chariton Review, Kenyon Review, Midwest Quarterly, and Southern Poetry Review. He has published eight poetry collections, most recently Diary of the Last Person on Earth (Sybaritic Press 2014) and Developing a Photograph of God (Glass Lyre Press, 2014).