preservation

after Ivy Raff

 

the sun falls like an imperial coin.

descending on a continent, its light

crashes like the clanging of

church bells, the sky like glass

bending beneath the supple,

pliable light. it steams the flooding

fields and chokes the riven earth.

i drive a carriage across the ancient

plains, yearning to clearly see

a face of grace. listening to the

voices of the land and the wind,

my palms open, bearing nothing,

mercy, painted blue,

begins to ripple.

 

Jonathan Chan is a writer, editor and author of the poetry collection going home (Landmark, 2022). More of his writing can be found at jonbcy@wordpress.com.

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