Backyard Poem by nathan martin

it may be the other side that vanishes
first.
standing in the back yard smoking a
cigerrette.

a car passes by first the engine then the
lights.
the faint hum of deisel and carbon are
left.
so i exhale once more.

should i speak of memories?

the clouds passing overhead.

i remember all those early fall days
the leaves having brought themselves
down to their knees.

what comes next the hip or thigh,
possibly the wrist?

shall i speak of winters joints?

that leaky fossil that sheds
half its sinews continually.

such a beautiful arched ceiling,
with heavy rain soaked lungs.

now i am as a cistern in carthage
kept in remembrance by very cold ancient
stones overhead.

i cannot speak by i may listen.

it is the vapor as i exhale that
dissapears last.