by Ace Boggess
I walk among droplets,
unconcerned, soothed by scents
of damp earth & wood
masking my smoky breath
the way the smell of baking bread
hides, however briefly,
the decay of a marriage.
I’m happy at a time
of many fingers caressing my neck—
I lean back into them,
stare up at gray nothing
of what was, is, will be.
Ace Boggess is author of seven books of poetry, most recently Tell Us How to Live (Fernwood Press, 2025) and My Pandemic / Gratitude List (Mōtus Audāx Press, 2025). His writing has appeared in Indiana Review, Michigan Quarterly Review, Hanging Loose, and other journals. An ex-con, he lives in Charleston, West Virginia, where he writes, watches Criterion films, and tries to stay out of trouble. His first short-story collection, Always One Mistake, is forthcoming from Running Wild Press.
Hawaii Pacific Review 