Divination
Let’s be GodFor a moment,
Shall we?That which invites
Composition,That which is suspended
From a great height,The presence
Of approximationHeavy in the meadows,
I’m not afraid,And yet
My shroud vanishesIn these lines,
I am so weptPast weeping,
And what seems to holdThe world in its place
Is evidence of theWeighted trees,
And leaves me alwaysWanting.
The Animals
The warmest winter storm now over,My splendid chamber all in disarray.As I go on inventing myself, as theAudience is fewer and fewer, I would
Say I was struck by memory, and theHaze of what swells and collapses, nothingBut grace and a few lines to form a shape.The opera’s pulse, a flower left out for
Us. The undulant doves carrying messagesIn their mouths, number upon numberOf slow and patient animals. How selflessThey are, and how loving, living in perfect
Fulfillment with their precise expressionsOf tireless faith, wishing us all…
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The American Poetry Review (Digital) - 1 Issue, May/June 2023