Winter 1999 • Vol. XXI No. 1 Poetry |

Gothic

They come quietly as fever, their mottled wingsthe strangest bloom of my garden. Reverent as old women at early mass, clinging, persistent, silent, as if the mere promise of light were their cathedral.They have colonized my dreams—my sleep fills with wings. In daylight I wander the yard, but they elude my dragnet, hiding in trees, on rocks, feeding my fever for darkness. What is it they seek? Tonight I am afraid to darken the light, afraid of my ability to deprive.I will join in the worship of candlepower, fill my house with light. I will anoint them my nightwatchmen, my brothers, fellow monks in the church of fever, the church of light, supplicants to the promise of heat, homage, illumination.

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.

Read More

Celestial Mechanics

By Anthony Walton

They come quietly as fever, their mottled wingsthe strangest bloom of my garden. Reverent as old women at early mass, clinging, persistent, silent, as if the mere promise of light […]

Subscribe

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

Donate

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