Winter 1984 • Vol. VI No. 1 PoetryJanuary 1, 1984 |


You have considered the lilies of the field, how they do nothing for their splendor and how they shine like moons upon their stalks, arrayed in the exacting glory of the sun. Consider the mosses of the cypress swamp, the great droop-headed grasses of the salt marsh, and how, beneath the shadowed pastels of the wetland flowers, there lingers a hint of violet that fades in full light, whitens and dies like a sin you are especially partial to because it makes your life more intricate and somehow better. Consider, too, the various lights that outlast the last hard leg of the pilgrimage through leaf and branch, moss, mist, haze and gnats— they're rare and charged, softened with impurities, and should be blest each with a proper name but in the sun-bright fields they're just called light because they're known there only in their scouring brightness. Consider the dream I dreamt last night of Christ glowing in holiness, as metal in a forge will pulsate red, yellow, and finally white befor

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Andrew Hudgins teaches at Ohio State University. His most recent book is American Rendering: New and Selected Poems. In June, Simon and Schuster will publish The Joker: A Memoir and Houghton Mifflin Harcourt will publish A Clown at Midnight.

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