Bones and Wandering
The grave of light is now underwater. Scoundrels curve
around the riverside and laugh so loud it remains night
for three days.
This laughter serves to cover up
their true purpose: searching to remedy the curse
of their contorted faces.
Agency of bones and wandering.
Even the trees seize up and become savage
in this strange dark. Even the map lies about the valley
where the river scours.
Hands black from all the blood
and dirt this river once washed away. Those gathered
wish to drag something, they know not what,
from the rift of sadness into which they stare.
Adam Clay’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Black Warrior Review, The Iowa Review, and Forklift, Ohio. He co-edits Typo Magazine (http://www.typomag.com) and lives in Northwest Arkansas.