Friday, February 28th, 2014
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A Poem By Adam Boles

Aubade While Falling

           From here,
the smallest increment above
the sheet, I plummet. We know the law:
we are all repulsive. Nothing
touches anything else.
           A café and some version
of you, impatient, dressed in furs,
but this alleyway circuit board. I never
know who’s chasing me.
           Define close as nearby
though not imminent: you are close,
but not here
. The warm vacuum
between us, not your skin,
but the sensation of force. I am
a magnet. I am a pole.
           In this mountain
village, gravity is a lie we tell
to feel connected. I know what’s
coming. Pigeons
scatter. Nothing solid in the stairwell.
From this height, I watch you leave
the table. Have faith: when I
jump from this balcony, or fall,
I will keep on falling, will never
touch the ground.





Adam Boles lives and works in Tallahassee, FL. He holds an MFA from Florida State University's Creative Writing Program.

You will find more poems here. You may contact the editor at poems@theawl.com.