Balm

From my three small rooms I’ve gotten to 

dome growth, fireweed, slough views, 

a porch like a theater seat 

to a sharpened sunset. After the year 

we didn’t manage to have, I’m beyond 

the indifference of loneliness, which was a best pace

to handle the horrors. I can finally walk close

beside this and that, people 

in silhouette. The giant sky 

pasted spontaneous blue 

and the water clear, clear on both sides. 

How fine to listen to the gulls 

hunting. I have come with almost nothing. It is work

to trust. The house down the road 

has collected nine rotted cars. 

Diluted music unstuffs from a front seat stereo. 

Blankets clap windows. 

Each evening, every color of dusk moves in 

slow over those busted windshields

and I intend to find out how it trembles. 

Lauren Camp is a Guest Contributor for Panorama

Lauren Camp is the Poet Laureate of New Mexico and author of five books, most recently Took House(Tupelo Press). Two new books—Worn Smooth Between Devourings (NYQ Books) and An Eye in Each Square (River River Books)—are forthcoming in 2023. Honors include a Dorset Prize and finalist citations for the Arab American Book Award and Adrienne Rich Award for Poetry. Her work has been translated into Mandarin, Turkish, Spanish, French and Arabic.  www.laurencamp.com­