By Christopher Fettes
All the world is on the wind:
Plants coming into bloom,
Distant fires burning forests and homes,
Smokestacks exhaling on the third shift,
Cities waking up and commuting,
Every scent drifts over time and space,
Heavy here in the cool, damp air of night
In the latter days of spring.
The wolfhound takes it all in,
Distracted from her purpose in the night.
I can but wonder what she perceives
Drifting through our small piece of the world,
Cutting through the heavy bouquet of honeysuckle
That predominates these few days
Before disappearing into green
In the keen light of summer.
All the world is on the wind,
Drifting past at all times,
All the while it goes unnoticed,
Perhaps merely marveled at,
This presence of imperceptible matter
Crossing great distances unseen
And unremarked upon
To find us where we are.
Christopher Fettes was born and raised in Little Rock, Arkansas, where he lives with his wife and their beloved pets. He earned both a B.A. and M.A. in English from the University of Central Arkansas. He writes poetry and fiction. He serves as Poetry Editor for Medicine & Meaning and is a reviewer for Slant. He is the author of a chapbook titled A Loneliness in the Distance Between.