by Matt Stefon

Red sky in the
morning behind
all those clouds. The
Shakers sleeping

on the trembling
hill, hopefully
warmer than the
thousand-odd trees

shivering in the
morning out the
window. On this
side, still in bed,

my wife and dog
dreaming—God—have
no need to know
I’m writing this.

Matt Stefon lives and writes north of Boston. His latest chapbook is Beyond the Spaghettiville Bridge (Alien Buddha Press). He’s likely forever stuck on 463 all-time wiffle ball home runs, and that’s okay. He can be found on Twitter/X @Matt_Stefon, BlueSky @MattStefonPoems@bsky.social, and Instagram @mattstefon.