Michael J. Kolb

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Omen

They study the shadows
in my skull:

the pale bloom
on the monitor,

the storm cloud
massed behind the eyes.

I lie inside the tunnel,
its hum like cicadas
trapped in the walls,
static needling the air.

A voice, disembodied:
here comes a pinch.

My heart hesitates,
a bird stunned
in the spotlight.

No revelation,
only a pulse.

I close my eyes,
let the body turn to forest:

rain threading through pine,
stones wearing moss,
a filament of gold
winding between roots.

For an instant I am
rooted, alive,
a tree exhaling its own summer.

When the lamps tremble against my lids,
leaves gather
where diagnosis
wants a name.

Michael J. Kolb is a poet, educator, and archaeologist based in Colorado.  He writes across disciplines, exploring nature, memory, and illness, asking what we carry and what we leave behind. His collection What Keeps Me Looking Out the Window was a finalist for the 2026 Press 53 Award. His poems have appeared in The Shore, Third Wednesday, ONE ART, Sky Island Journal, Eunoia Review, San Antonio Review,  Trampoline, The Ekphrastic Review, and elsewhere. He lives with his family and dogs where the mountains, shoreline, and changing weather continually shape his sense of place. 

Find him on Instagram at @michaeljkolb and on Substack at substack.com/@michaeljkolb.