by Jad Josey
at 2:00 a.m.
in the place where my bones
found your bones—
that home
—I launch into a night sown
with stars, an improbable pasture of stars and
no wind to stir them, and
I hurtle north along the coast, and
the waxing orange moon is setting, and
I am alive to watch it dip into the ocean,
to flatten like a shell into the sea haze,
to burn as a muted sun along that dark horizon, and
I suspect this will be my new home—
that home
—where your bones are nowhere to be found
no matter the digging, and
mine: I will carry mine with me
beside that impeccable orange moon and
those small hours of the night.
Jad Josey resides on the central coast of California. When he isn’t writing, he spends as much time in the ocean as possible. His work has appeared in Glimmer Train, Passages North, CutBank, Little Fiction, Pithead Chapel, and elsewhere. Read more of his work at http://www.jadjosey.com or reach out on Twitter @jadjosey.
Emerge Literary Journal 