Flinch Poem by Fred Rik Kesner

'Flinch'


stars pressed their weight upon him,
yet he walked as though their burn
were nothing more than dusk settling
on a kettle left near the fire.

they watched him turn the sky smaller,
watched constellations loosen,
watched the night shrink to a handful
of cooling flecks above his cup.

word travelled through the ridgelines
that he moved without recoil;
old stories rose to meet him,
naming him what they feared most

—for gods are known to waver,
and he is not.






.