My postcard holds its pose and breath
Till it reaches you in the backcountry,
Wrangling horses for the summer.
What keeps us from what we want
More than distance? Words
Get lonelier by the day, promise futures,
Hold memories like oil in a white bowl.
One night, knife-cold and snowing,
Your thighs warming me, an icicle tall as a man
Fell four stories outside the window.
I dreamt I had baby teeth and awoke
More careful. The next morning
You pointed to its absence through the curtains.
“We’re always near the satisfaction,
But never a part of it.” I poured that
Into the bowl along with the thought of you
Turning forty horses west at once.
Adam Lambert was born in Kingsport, Tennessee. He earned his B.A. in English and Philosophy at East Tennessee State University and his M.F.A. in Poetry at the University of Montana. He is a published poet and fiction writer, and is currently working on both a children's book and screenplay set in his native Appalachia. After spending time in England and Germany, he moved to Missoula where he teaches creative writing at the University of Montana.