Poetry by Steve Klepetar

Neal Wellons - CC



Braying at the Moon

You could stand here forever, 
braying at the moon.
Or so it seems, when night 
and moonlight freeze 
on the lake and time disappears. 

Across the hills, wolves moan. 
Their voices paint shadows 
on the star-sprinkled sky. 

No wind. A weight of stillness,
and you sink into yourself, 
recalling your blood 
as it pulses through your body, 
carrying light to your hungry brain.




Staying Out All Night

We walked to the river, climbed down 
beneath the bridge, listened 

to cars rush overhead, 
watched boat lights spread on the water. 

We sat on warm stones 
as they slowly cooled, 

and slowly in the darkness
we came to ourselves.

We spoke softly.
Earth felt new in our fingers, 

smoky and raw. 
Fish splashed near the shore, 

the sound rich in our ears. 
All night we lingered in that velvet world, 

prowled the shore, lithe as cats, 
eyes glowing with the gentle light of stars.




To Drown the Night

We are tramping on streets far from home.
Here we are, breathing humid air, 
bodies packed in close. 
Though we carry bold signs, 
we are terrified as we cross bridges 
toward the park. 
Dogs growl as we pass. 
Women watch us from their yards, faces 
pulled into shadow and mist. 
Everywhere, men with guns and clubs.

This city sinks faster every year.
After a hard rain, fish swim 
in puddles on streets 
near the shore. The city pushes 
out into wetlands. 
Tall buildings rise along the coast.
Music pours from cafes, flags 
flutter in the wind. 
We step with our aching feet. 
Our throats burn, sunshine stabs our eyes. 

Here in this parade, we are bodies, we are clay.
We are droplets in a sea, gathering to drown the night. 
​

Bio:  Steve Klepetar lives in Saint Cloud, Minnesota. His work has received several nominations for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize, including four in 2016. Recent collections include Family Reunion (Big Table), A Landscape in Hell (Flutter Press), and How Fascism Comes to America (Locofo Chaps).

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