by Stan Sanvel Rubin
You think it is anything
or nothing—
but it’s neither
here nor there
any more than
the wind is,
passing like breath
through the body
through the rising
night storm,
through the sun
like a neutral judge,
a jury of forces
uncontrollable
as lust,
the desire
to take
what you want
from everything,
the woods,
the rivers,
the sea, the sky,
the voices
we know are there
and those
we don’t.
In the dark
cellar,
something moves.
In the throbbing
heart, seeds
take root.
Stan Sanvel Rubin’s poems have appeared in numerous magazines including AGNI, The Georgia Review, ONE, Poetry Northwest, Kenyon Review, and most recently, Change Seven, Aji, 8 Poems, 2River, The Sextant Review, and One Art. His four full-length collections include There. Here. (Lost Horse Press) and Hidden Sequel (Barrow Street Book Prize). He lives on the north Olympic Peninsula of Washington state and writes an annual essay-review of poetry for Water-Stone Review.