person Tucker Lux, two poems

Tucker Lux teaches English, raises a family, and writes poems in Toledo, Ohio. Has work forthcoming in Third Wednesday, and WestWard Quarterly, and has appeared in Adelaide Literary Magazine, The Living Waters Review, The Penwood Review, Florida’s Best Emerging Poets, and America’s Best Emerging Poets.


Dream Horizon

Specters of mountains,
east, low,

outlined in dandelion sunrise,
impossible Ohio peaks, passes

to breaking light,
ranges of dreams

lingering, tugging
as we course together,

swept by common current
into waking,

into work.



Five steps in with
all of the breath,
the spirit,
I can take.
Four steps, exhausting
circulatory fumes,
a mist I break,
and leave behind.
I am persistence hunting for God.
I wear running clothes
like monastic robes.
God is out
before the sun,
grazing, sprinting away,
panting, checking my approach.
I, seeking,
slough off my skin, drip
my sweat, drop hairs
all to feed these woods
and breathe, needy,
inhaling all
the photosynthetic runoff,
the superfine matter
of tree-life pulsing out
of leaf cells,
all the drizzle and mist,
all that I kick
up from the ground
all belching from the tailpipes
from the road above that
cannot see me.
And I, the running ascetic,
hunting God,
now re-know I am
all these inhalations,
I am the silver-dust
of these streets and woods
and it is my breath
fogging those windshields
and feeding these trees,
and it is all a drop of God.
You could not know the run
home is my dervish dance,
my ecstatic prayer jig,
that I am David in the streets
dancing off everything
that is not me,
and aching muscles all day
pray without ceasing
for me.


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