Winter 1958 • Vol. XX No. 1 PoetryJanuary 1, 1958 |

The Shattered Air

Behind the shadow waits the old man not unloving. Before the shadow I unlearning, learning, rise and fall again within the turning earth within the sky. Her restless shoulder thrust from center-spun upheaves me. On her folds I crush. Her boulders push me. Where her rivers rush I mottle waters with my wavelike run. From the first clam's sprung shell I peer, slow climb, with eyes new blinking. Creeping fear deep sodden, clings in primal freshness, stings the trebled heartbeat, leaps with salmon wings. Fifty thousand gods have come, and come, swearing gifts that build no weight at all, wearing imagination's horns to hum unutterable legends blown across the wall. Delicate mathematical blooms are born from the flowerpot of my skull. Yes, count the years, you who click along my coffin. Corn I speeded feeds the holied cow. My ears Sprout thorns of mistletoe, hear mass before the red-eyed pigs. Groans that shattered air break fevered through my burial. Creaking doors rev

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Point of Change

By Sheila Pritchard

Behind the shadow waits the old man not unloving. Before the shadow I unlearning, learning, rise and fall again within the turning earth within the sky. Her restless shoulder thrust […]

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