Into the Mistake
My solecisms spread like sumactrees, somber cloudsat the perimeter, stalking.I walk
the desire line of path with my bowand arrow, toward the straw filled boss, its bull’s-eyemy third eye. The angels always ask mequestions with no answers:
What is a mistake but a misunderstandingof the mystic?
The translucent wingsof white bramble on thorns and tall grass,lead here to the upper field. Missing the mark,what some call sin. The thick urinous stink
of plum trees and flop, the neighbor’s Guernseycalf in her pen, just born, a ghost in a machine.How can she want a fieldwhen she’s not yet been to one?
We all know what we know. That’s howit is. In the loud high-pitchedmoan and moothe greenness calls like a shofar.Blessed are You, Ruler of the world.
I pet her spotted nose, then wave.She’s become…
You're reading a preview of
The American Poetry Review (Digital) - 1 Issue, May/June 2022