St. John's by Adam Phillips

To see the moon like a beloved face,
a much-loved face
dead beneath the gentle
ripples of the pond, nice
and smooth and round. To see the moon seen through
the black reeds. Moon’s light twitching
off the scales of drifting fish. To smile like a face
nestled in the mud. A pale and inflated
face in the black mud. Face with gills, my
love. With rich lips, a button nose,
and eyes like mud.

Adam Phillips currently splits time between Idaho and the Oregon Coast. Signed editions of his most recent novel, Manifest, which revolves around 19th century baseball and a deathrow prison, can be obtained from the author directly at adam.mendax@gmail.com.