Claustrophobic in a passage
between brick and clapboard walls,
I observe a slot of street,
hoping this narrow focus
will help me to understand
random arrangements of objects
clustered in the broader world.
A pale truck parked at the curb,
a white two-story house, a slice
of apartments towering beyond.
Two black exclamations
of chimney suggest excitements
I can’t define. Power lines web
the sky at the mouth of the passage.
I could shrug back into the light,
ascend the few steps to the street,
and resume my three dimensions.
But in this slender place I’m flat
enough to escape myself;
so why reckon with textures
rougher than brick and clapboard,
and space too great for me to fill?
William Doreski's work has appeared in various literary journals and collections, most recently A Black River, A Dark Fall (Splash of Red, 2018).