J.P. Huber
Image by Juan Pablo Serano Arrenas from Pexels
J.P. Huber is a poet from Washington who enjoys long drives through mountain passes and looking at birds that he doesn’t know the names of.
Turn the Music Off
The world unfolds itself about
three hundred feet at a time
depending on the lumens. One
headlight is gone and dead, and
the other drips just enough life
to carry on. The hulking black above
the horizon where stars vanish. It's funny
how mountains cloak themselves as night.
Or maybe that's just where heaven ends,
sudden and incomplete. The embrace cut short.
What are the odds the single-antlered elk
flopped over on the side of the road
is just sleeping. What are the odds
the silence between us is just that.
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