I expand and contract,
like a fist or the tide,

or a breathing mushroom
in a fairie circle, enchanted
by the sounds of frogs and owls
and cicada in the breaches.

Lost things, forgotten things,
things behind strange doors,
under glass, under foot,
behind the smiles of naughty vicars,
between their lips and in their hands.

I watch them from a distance
(and you, also from a distance)
from behind my shadow,
from inside my closet,

watch and wait,
wait and watch

for nothing to occur,
nothing to condense,
to coalesce into something
stranger than locked doors

or the trilling of
my grandfather’s canary.

L.G. Corey has published one poetry collection, The Kalidas Verses, and a second, Rats’ Alley Poems, is on the way. Currently, his individual poems are appearing in such literary magazines as Chaffey Review, Snapping Twig, Poetry Pacific, Empty Sink, Screech Owl, and Pif.  Over the years they’ve also been published in Evergreen Review, Beloit Poetry Journal, Midstream, Choice, The Catholic Critic, and Zeek.

Larry lives with his two pit bulls, one black lab, and three indoor cats in a small mountain community 7 thousand ft. above sea level in the San Bernardino Mountains of Southern California.

He turned 80 last November.

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