poem

by Dave Harrity

Pareidolia

From our bed, I watch wind

cut through side-street oaks

in a fury of tangles

& whips. A storm turns,

the leaves swish down, glance

a rapture of spring. I think

about time, how it passes

between two voices,

how the sound hits the ear

& we are older than when

the sound began: lash of

constant past, flux of

unfolding future. I stare

through the window

in a mood where I beatify

my wounds—patron saint

of standing frustrations

or sad naps. Greens

& yellows twirl & untie,

branches like fingers

pointing back. When I can’t

name my grief, lie down

beside me & fall into

the heavy shape of sleep.

See it? Peeling clouds

& the sun cinching

faces from shadows. Lull

between wet branches,

pollen’s slouch glowing

in the haze-light

stare of an afternoon.

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Dave Harrity is an author, professor, and corporate strategy and culture advisor who publishes widely and teaches in a variety of environments, from classrooms to boardrooms. His poems, essays, and erasures have appeared widely, including in Pleiades, Ecotone, and Ninth Letter. The author of four previous collections, he is the recipient of an Emerging Artist Award and Al Smith Fellowship from the Kentucky Arts Council. His most recent book of poems, Noctuary, is forthcoming from Accents Publishing in 2026. He lives in Louisville, Kentucky.