by Mathew Weitman

Once I traveled as rain. It is a sensation that is not easy to describe—but one that is not dissimilar to standing in the center of a two-dimensional depiction of a cube, and facing the implication of a vertex. I found comfort in snow-melt. Sometimes, I’d slide down windowpanes, as discretely as I could—but always, I’d end up bumping into myself, and going faster. I could never anticipate my own geodesics. Each morning, I’d wake-up elliptically: on pine needles, and soft blades of grass. And on elm leaves, I’d sit as a village of perfect domes, containing all the sky I looked at.


Mathew Weitman, is a New York-based poet, musician, and writer. Most recently, his poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in the Ekphrastic Review, Raw Art Review, Unbroken, Unlost, &  Plum Tree Tavern. Additionally, he was a runner-up for the 2018 Francis Ponge Prize for Prose Poetry and Flash Fiction.