Andrew Maxwell
Winter 2026 | Poetry
solitude
That rainlight unravels. That wandering spiral of
wandering. Asphalt upon which
your shadow
dreams only
again will be written again
will be written
by that which
upon which
no other. Light falls.
*
Deep even as shadow. Green even
as faceless as that which now crosses
that distance of scattered
leaves. Asphalt in which
now that distance
in which now
your silence takes root.
*
If then as if swept as by rainlight. That asphalt like
broken stone opens like
lilac. Wide lilac where
luminous. Only that field in which. Only
your silence yet sighs yet
sighs. Only.
If then.
Andrew Maxwell is from Bucks County, Pennsylvania. His poems have previously appeared or are forthcoming in ballast, antiphony, Colorado Review, Conjunctions, and Lana Turner, among other places.