All Memory

It was late, and the sky had long past
burst and cleared into stars

when it ran from the trees, like a mass,
illuminated into white and fur

in the headlights. Its eyes were like two pearls.
I watched as it tumbled away

into the darkness, that broken filament,
and I waited until they came

to carry it away. They were two
silent meadows, eyes never reaching,

mouths never turning. I watched
the moon drift down on the horizon,

and it reminded me of the way
we stopped loving each other.

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About mckenzielynntozan

McKenzie Lynn Tozan lives and writes in South Bend, Indiana, where she works as the Departmental Secretary of English and World Language Studies at Indiana University South Bend, and remains closely affiliated with 42 Miles Press, New Issues Poetry and Prose, and Wolfson Press. She previously received her MFA in Poetry from Western Michigan University, where she worked as the Layout and Design Editor for New Issues Poetry and Prose and as an Assistant Editor of Poetry for Third Coast. Her poems have appeared in Encore Magazine, Sleet Magazine, Rogue Agent, Thank You for Swallowing, Whale Road Review, The James Franco Review, The Birds We Piled Loosely, and Analecta; and her book reviews have appeared on her website and on The Rumpus. She lives with her husband, their daughter, and three cats. For more, visit www.mckenzielynntozan.com. View all posts by mckenzielynntozan

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