I never know when to stop. Moon
Goes down, sun comes up. North wind
South wind. Alarm clock chimes five.
Ice melting on a blade of grass.
You beside me should mean forever.
You’re beside yourself without flowers.
In my dream I’m beside you snoring
In that cold and shabby bedroom
Where we fall asleep clutching books.
If my time left is a high desert to cross
Barefoot like some heartbroken Apache,
Your laughter will be a raven’s caw.
Your name will be two river pebbles
Held on my tongue to ward off thirst.




Harold Whit Williams is guitarist for the critically acclaimed rock band Cotton Mather.  His newest collection of poems, Backmasking, is winner of the 2013 Robert Phillips Poetry Chapbook Prize, forthcoming from Texas Review Press in early 2014. His first collection, Waiting For The Fire To Go Out, is available from Finishing Line Press, and his poems have appeared in numerous literary journals. He lives in Austin, Texas.

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