Trucks thundered by your blinded bedroom window:
your eyelids did not flicker from light’s slices.
!e moon was enraptured, as I was,
with your round face. You hinted secret smiles.

What dreams were you dreaming? I thought of the moon
where I’d drive from dusk to dawn past craters,
but somehow all your friends who’d died knew
you’d find them there on the blue-lined summits.

There, you stood proudly from your moon buggy to
wave everyone from the luminous darkness.
“It’s beautiful here,” you whispered.
Gravity made the earth clouds swirl sadly.

I slept beside you, your warm glow (like babies
not yet aware of their effect on parents)
illuminating my hushed silence.
I love your body, a wonderful moon.

A journey you’ll never forget.


In his fourth poetry collection Road Work Ahead, Raymond Luczak sets out on a turbulent journey after ending a 15-year relationship. As he meets kindred souls on his travels, Luczak wonders what it means to love again. He opens the suitcase of his heart in far-flung cities and points beyond. His poems, pungent with musk and ache, will open yours too.


The black-and-white photograph shows a grassy road through a sparse forest. Above the road is a transparent square with a bright orange border tilted to the side. The text on top of the square says ROAD WORK AHEAD. Below the "sign" are the text in white and orange: poems | RAYMOND LUCZAK.

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