Jonathan Andrew Perez is a published poet. He has been selected by the Virginia Quarterly Review, published in Junto Magazine, and Silver Needle Press
Next spring I am every dead thing
Glass, conceits, hot in the frozen tundra, a tincture like heraldry
Next season brilliant-edged, sound like music,
the clicking of bitter sweet gum tree by the woodpecker’s beak.
Atop, the net of unworn leaves
Some of them childish ones
The evil of the identity politic
Is the cool glen of a river
Darkly, whale like shimmer,
Cold is the element of fear
The fall blue jay migration
Maine Sabine Seagull, Machias
were all visitors back then.
We held commune. Gulls carried
the scent of fried-smelling, off Machias,
resort, 1777 patriots in between canon-ball banking
Returning- Bryant Park
The waxy leaved begonias
are all in full bloom.
In the sunshine they glisten like water.
An American Redstart
has been zip-lining between the London Planes.