There was a field I wanted to roll around in.
I wanted to throw my body
into bushes until breath turned to pinpricks.
I wanted my shoulders to melt
into coneflowers while bullfrog croaks fell
across an evening sky so long.
I wanted your breath folded between my breath,
your arms pretzeled soft
around my own. I wanted this & bluebirds & more
frogs & more minutes
in a moment. I wanted. I want. Because I do.
Because there is a blue light
that comes on above your garage door as the moon
blinks with the streetlamps
& I see it when I’m not there. Because
when I get in late from the city,
when I leave some dinner party with dark wine
& finger foods, I imagine blue.
But there’s no field at my doorstep,
only a buzz.
Caleb Edmondson is a writer from Akron, OH, who is currently finishing up his MFA studies at Bowling Green State University. He enjoys walks and sitting by bodies of water.