Winter 2000 • Vol. XXII No. 1 PoetryJanuary 1, 2000 |

Fissure

The light, broken by a branch, collapses through the barn, one side to the other. One pine falters, then spreads its wings against the wood—both forms miraculously planed into a carpenter's vision, rotted and gray. Finality on the road; no one dare stop it. My father draws near, dimming the light. Winter. How then to enter this haven of gray, this heaven of age-split wood? Two crows up-pull, sockets specked with my reflection. I look over the rims of the blood-shot dark. To the right, a fallen sun. To the left, the dark trees rising. Half of me drops to the half-hot flesh. The other half scours a tree. Vertigo impends. My mother cries from beneath the earth. Her fragile heart shakes, a first-burst seed. Every year, memory blossoms. And every year, the leaves descend, trailing a death path round the world. Desire follows, clothed in black wings.

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Encoded Dithyramb

By T. R. Hummer

The light, broken by a branch, collapses through the barn, one side to the other. One pine falters, then spreads its wings against the wood—both forms miraculously planed into a […]

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