by Pamela Hobart Carter
after Deborah Digges
Notice the last brightness leave the field at its back,
ignoring it into a nonexistence.
Ants, crows, squirrels—always up to something.
We board the bus to sail beyond earthly gravity,
or step onto the slack rope, precarious over a canyon.
A kind of buoyancy like a hot air balloon’s on a breeze,
gliding, righting, equilibrating with atmosphere.
Who knows moth from bat in this dark sky,
star from candleflame or glint off moonlit sea?
None are as trapped in their grooves as they believe.
Let them wander when fog stretches across damp grass.
They may press their hands on loam. They may root.
Pamela Hobart Carter grew up as a landed immigrant in Montreal. When she returned to the US, she earned 2 geology degrees and became a teacher. Her collection “Earth at Perihelion” was second runner-up for the 2024 Sally Albiso Poetry Book Award from MoonPath Press. Her e-chapbooks “Only Connect” (with Robert Raynard) and “Behind the Scenes at the Eternal Everyday” were Yavanika Press mixed-genre winners (2024 & 2023). She is the author of two other poetry chaps: “Her Imaginary Museum” (Kelsay Books) and “Held Together with Tape and Glue” (Finishing Line Press). Her poems have been nominated for Best of the Net and The Pushcart Prize. Carter is also a prize-winning visual artist and playwright. She lives in Seattle. https://playwrightpam.