Spring 2004 • Vol. XXVI No. 2 PoetryApril 1, 2004 |

Like Stitches Where the Moths Have Made an Opening

Star-in-the-hand   Cupped fire   Fist, luminous.       What keeps staying lost is not, anymore, the thing itself, but the definition it once provided,           as history does to what occurs—to what has not, yet.                  Leafe-gold, what is blown—is blowable—away.                 God enters me as if from behind; he shakes, inside me. I want what you want, he says. I say Why regard what I can't choose? To be anchorless,                     but not unanchored: To have failed means, at worst, once we flourished, that's right, isn't it?             Windfall whose imperfections fade in a shabby harvest, the body—as again from mistakes all the same enjoyed—lifts, staggers, like light       off spokes of a wheel set spinning,                             as the wheel slows down: speed of legend, of the myth that follows, of the l

Already have an account? Login

Join KR for even more to read.

Register for a free account to read five free pieces a month from our current issue and digital archive.
Register for Free and Read This Piece

Or become a subscriber today and get complete, immediate access to our digital archives at every subscription level.
Carl Phillips
Carl Phillips is the author of thirteen books of poems, most recently Reconnaissance (FSG, 2015). He teaches at Washington University in St. Louis.

Read More


Your free registration with Kenyon review incudes access to exclusive content, early access to program registration, and more.


With your support, we’ll continue 
to cultivate talent and publish extraordinary literature from diverse voices around the world.