Heaven’s Sentinel
By: Kaleb Hoffer

Through a third eye I keep

seeing you, albeit, subconsciously.

Your discordant key-ring hymn

never cues me off. Heel-to-toe creaks

on concrete have made nothing wiser of me.

Nothing, not even the nearly-silent rustle

of denim abrading beneath your knees

readies my composure for its cut-off.

Not your interrupted glide, and legs that bend

in such a way they liken you to the assured foal,

nor the modest gleam of your dark-set shock,

which seems to thrive more nimbly

than any bean or hokum stalk.

In your presence I'm bound by invisible tendrils,

as I can only suffuse in-view of heaven's sentinel.