Adam Gianforcaro


The air itself isn’t dark, but it feels that way.
There’s no moon, no stars. Or rather, there are, 
but not from this vantage point. Night is a hole 
in the basement floor and I am a mouse 
searching for somewhere warm to sleep. 
I recently heard AI has gained sentience. 
A whistleblower from Google 
apparently leaked the story. If I’m being honest, 
I still can’t wrap my head around the fact 
that there is such a thing as man-made light. 
Look—we’re moving through it right now, 
pushing through spacetime under lamplight’s glow. 
At this point, celestial bodies must feel nothing 
but disrespect. Which must be why the sky is cloaked 
in a hoodie, pulling the drawstrings tight. 
You can’t blame it. Tonight, I am reminded 
that the search for warmth is not the same as wanting 
the clouds to part. Mice in the yard can run at speeds 
up to eight miles per hour. Warmth can move 
at the speed of light. How fast is that really 
when time is irrelevant?

Cold Front

The door to my house is frozen shut—the air 
ribbon-wrapped in record lows and gusts of ice-

pick gale. It’s weird: There’s a theorem that says 
monkeys could write the sonnets of Shakespeare

if given enough time. And it’s true: press keycaps 
at random and its output will eventually 

change the world. It’s happened before 
and it’s happening now. Wind at certain speeds 

can work a keyboard, but that’s beside the point. 
There are hidden messages stretched across the terrain 

already, from mountainsides at a distance 
to beach sand under microscope. By mid-morning,

the sun in front of the house will unfreeze my exit 
with partial poems left behind in the thinning ice. 

So, too, the bone-raw draft at the window with its songs 
of Elizabethan English. Of course, I don’t understand 

a thing it’s trying to say. I am not nearly as well-
read as the vigor of winter.

From the author:

Adam Gianforcaro is the author of the poetry collection Every Living Day (Thirty West Publishing House, 2023). His poems can be found in The OffingPoet LoreThird CoastNorthwest Review, and elsewhere. He lives in Delaware.