Winter 2000 • Vol. XXII No. 1 Poetry |

Question and Answer

What was I? The shadow of a statue. A voyeur at sunset. From there I saw all the valleys in the Psalms, the seven ways down. O trees, why did you confuse things? Here the dead end, under cypress and pines, legends of boughs that led nowhere, that whispered and whispered you could climb out of the world. Wasn't it a journey from refuge to refuge? I understood loneliness. Nights, I lay in the ruins of devotion— assessing the stars, like waterlilies riding the currents of a long conversation. Sometimes, when the moon was full, I saw antlers of light in the forest, began to find a voice in assonance and rustlings. 

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