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Wind Patterns

     Nica Giromini


Mornings I

take my way

down the bend

to worn-down  

stones in a

cellar hole.

One step before

another, is that

not forward?


Of course, the

lows here are

wet with what

was rain. I know

I backtracked

to the point

where I lost what

I’m looking for

in the sound

of the field and


hearing it, I

stop in. I put my

nose in

ground. Flush

to the edge

of that hole

to hide from

wind patter

that is returning.


Have I left it

out? I thought of

a way how:

shadows of a

few birds fly

off across this

old field’s face.

Never mind.

That’s not flight.

Nica Giromini lives and teaches in Iowa City, Iowa, where he received his MFA at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. His work has appeared in the Colorado Review and the Harvard Advocate.  

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