Peter Campion

Pacific

Balconies and streams

of cars on the 101

the sour milk smell

dumpsters in Vacaville and mist

between the promontories

dripping on ice-plant

all patch inside the day as earth

circles and comes up

streaked with dew.

But the shape a life makes?

while rage and affection spin

happiness and pain:

there has to be some

promise beyond this sheerest

animal drive.

Though it has been enough

so many times

as night hits and orange

slices the hillsides as

someone is

coming for you

as blood beats and

miles and hours pass

as generous and

indiscriminate as rain.

for Michael C. Peterson

Author: Peter Campion

Peter Campion is the author of four collections of poetry and of the essay collection Radical as Reality: Form and Freedom in American Poetry. A recipient of the Guggenheim Fellowship and the Joseph Brodsky Rome Prize, he teaches in the graduate creative writing program at the University of Minnesota.

Plume: Issue #35 May 2014