The sky bends around us, shielding us against the
vengeful plane of fire behind him, clamoring for a meal.
He does this almost perfectly.
There is one sharp hole punched through his great
armor with hard and unforgiving edges. Through this peers
one beady-hot eye of red hate until our celestial guardian again
wrestles his wound into the bandage of the hills.
The beast’s eye points perfectly at every living thing,
beats down with a lung-drying pulse, looking for a way in.
This is why you wear a hat. Smile on cloudy days
and laugh when it rains. When the sky is naked, clothe him
with smoke and steam.
Soon, it will line up just right, and the moon will seal
the gap. In the dark we carve a straight tree into an arrow,
a hilltop into a bow, and an archer into a hero. With a twang
will we pierce the moon in place forever. And never again will we forget
how fine it is to be cool, and wet, and unseen.
-- Jamie Manias is a poetry MFA student at BGSU and an assistant editor at Mid-American Review. You cannot find them.