Poetry

An end to a life

Kristen Roberts

An unknown road on a cumulus day,
and I am stopped like I’ve never been.
I sit deeply under undrawn trees,
and somewhere traffic keeps on without me.
The sun takes measure hourly—
the fence-posts, fields and my bare shins
and the sheep that graze and graze,
each anchored by their shadow’s grasp.
I am not here, or with the clouds that
thread the sky. But I am,
and you will never be. Tomorrow
I will wake unanchored.