flâneur

Archery by Carl Phillips | Poetry Magazine

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was still a thing, then. To have timed your arrow

Share was still a thing, then. To have timed your arrow perfectly meant watching the air for a moment seem stitched throughout with a kind of timelessness. To have straddled at last, correctly, the storm of falling in love (and staying there) meant the smell of apples, victory, tangerines, and smoke all mixed together on the breath of a stranger, half asleep still, just beginning to remember a bit, as he stirs beside you. I dreamed we were young again, he’s mumbling, as if to someone whose name he’s known long enough to have called it out more than once in anger and sex and fear equally. Somew

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