Whole Worlds Had Already Happened

Train windows doled fields
swaying from the curtain rods,
all the lavish land swept yellow.

This would be our betterment,
you said, but it bittered, root rot,
burdock, mean cold in winter.

Here's a there now: the side yard
apple never went bad, though once
lightning struck, wind hacked.

When elm leaves turned web-gray gauze
auguring our demise (fields gone
brittle, well dry), you took

the dark way while I gathered
our collectibles, assuaged losses,
found another direction.

Copyright © 2007 Lynne Potts All rights reserved
from Backwards City Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission