Across the circle, a neighbor’s mother smokes In her nightgown below the wind chimes. Silver cylinders. A jet airplane incises the sky: Its white scar fades
In real time. Breezes surge in the circuitry Of the pin oak tree, their coolness a gift That rain leaves as it evaporates, their poetry An emotionrecollected in tranquility, deep lung
Wellspring of breath, dandelions pinched Between the cement toes of the driveway, growing Like my glioblastoma. How strange it is To want only this morning to last
Cameron Morse lives with his wife Lili and son Theodore in Blue Springs, Missouri. He was diagnosed with a glioblastoma in 2014. With a 14.6 month life expectancy, he entered the Creative Writing program at the University of Missouri—Kansas City and, in 2018, graduated with an M.F.A. His poems have been published in over 100 different magazines, including New Letters, Bridge Eight, and South Dakota Review. His first collection, Fall Risk, won Glass Lyre Press’s 2018 Best Book Award. His second, Father Me Again, is available from Spartan Press.