Lindsay Rockwell

On the red cliffs of East Rock

sound—cellular its root

buds bell one by one

crowding the stones below

electrons of quail skirr—

above, a falcon

talons a draft

otherwise, barely a stir

here where clutter purged

and I am a swarm of welcome

who sees atop a pawpaw bloom

a swallowtail butterfly

slowly, slowly lift

as though the heft of air

some sure thing unseen

space agog in infinite small occurrences

a ruffed grouse rouses

thrum

sweet against my ears

Lindsay Rockwell—poet, earthling, oncologist—explores the shared landscape of poetry and the sacred. She’s recently published, or forthcoming, in Guernica, Poetry Northwest, Poet Lore, Tupelo Quarterly, RADAR, SWWIM every day, among others. Her collection, GHOST FIRES, was published by Main Street Rag, April 2023. She is the recipient of the Andrew Glase Poetry Prize and fellowships from Vermont Studio Center and Edith Wharton/The Mount residency. https://www.lindsayrockwell.com