On the list of things we apparently
take for granted: the sun’s rising,
eggs stocked in shelves,
Regular as a gold watch.
I cynicised myself, since being forced
to recognise the ‘transcendental’
felt like a bit of homework.
At 5am, strolling out,
I kicked intervals
into the lawn’s arabesque
That silent music, finely metered,
dispensed something in my chest
so now I traced the glowering sunrise
and noticed a ladybird as it walked off its blade.
The tefillat tal rang out of me
when life teemed in the corner of my eyes -
and yet, entering the house,
Love was still a mug of coffee
on the table set for me.
And that’s when I knew:
Life had been arid
until I met you.
a cento for dew
Smacks like fresh water in a can, like the sea
When light and sunbeams, warm and kind,
were destroyed. As the wind veered upon the drifting
Days, weeks, months, years this dew, these bright dead eyes
watching the pier as the ship sails away, or what it will seem
has come to us:
Magic rain magic mist magic dew magic hail
something about it has changed
The new morning light is a primitive
dew: for a moment light in
a shadow in the shape of a house
destroys the picture.
Wallace Stevens, John Clare, Basil Bunting, Mabel Simpson, Christina Rossetti, Mark Strand, Christian Wiman, Thomas McCarthy, Laura Kasischke, Beatrice Ravenel, William Pitt Root, Christian Wiman, Peter Gizzi.