Poem by Adam Clay

I wake myself imagining the shape

of the day and where I will find

myself within it. Language is not often

in that shape,

but sentences survive somehow

through the islands of dark matter,

the negative space often more important

than the positive.

Imagine finding you look at the world

completely different upon waking one day.

You do not know if this is permanent.

Anything can change, after all,

for how else would you find yourself

in this predicament or this opportunity

depending on the frame? A single thought

can make loneliness seem frighteningly new

We destroy the paths of rivers to make room for the sea.