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      July 10, 2017SeparationMichael Dylan Welch

      he hangtime
      of a tossed football
      separation
       
      separation
      the balcony again
      in shadow
       
      fish heads
      in a bucket
      separation
       
      separation
      the town square flag
      at half mast
       
      fog
      in
      the
      forecast
      separation
       
      the birthday cake
      store-bought
      separation
       
      the ice finally shifts
      as I tip my glass
      separation
       
      shuttered windows
      on the family cottage
      separation
       
      a gargoyle’s laugh
      from atop the cathedral
      separation
       
      gas prices
      lower today
      separation
       
      last out
      of the little league game
      separation
       
      whether the stop lights
      are green or red
      separation
       
      the firemen
      washing a ladder truck
      separation
       
      flecks of rust
      beneath the anchor
      separation
       
      the kids’ shoes
      lined up at the door
      separation
       
      separation
      another poem
      about sandcastles
       
      the patter of rain
      on the forest path
      separation

      from #55 - Spring 2017

      Michael Dylan Welch

      “I hope the poems I write might resonate with at least one reader—that can sometimes be enough. A poem is a door, and whether it’s ajar or not, you’re invited to open it wide. My ‘Separation’ sequence is an exploration of many things that word might mean, but more in an experiential rather than intellectual sense. Perhaps at least one reader might connect with it.”