Kyle K. Anderson is the recipient of a Fulbright. His work has recently been published in Construction, Town Creek Poetry, Whistling Shade, and elsewhere. A native New Orleanian, he currently resides in San Antonio, TX where he teaches world geography to high schoolers. He plays guitar in a rock and roll band called Levees. You can follow them on Instagram.

The Shape of Glistening

I was taught to keep my words
Like a robin’s egg in the fist.
Tender blue of shed sky, you

Choose: rain-possessed cicada,
Or nocturnal ship of teeth?
Either way, I’m on my knees,

Amening the invisible
Sphinx of your shadow.
I swear, you are an x-ray

Of antlered moonlight,
The damp moss swallowing
A forest-born piano. Whenever,

Wherever you are, the Milky Way
Still exits my head, so I’m moved,
I speak: moths maze through

My clothes strung high with darkness.
Here, still, I’m on my knees,
Begging the night to cave, at least

To flood the little village
In my chest. Either way—
How best to learn silence?