Winter 2001 • Vol. XXIII No. 1 Poetry |

In Absentia

The sky is indigo and potash: The lodestar banked and maculate. The evening star affixed by salts.   I take as my shelter a mirage. In these shadows, a legion of shadows shadow forth. I pry the subfloor's boards and find sand.   A rush of wind discloses the moon: A sallow mandorla, a rust-pitted spearhead. Where the fox stood, the undergrowth still shivers.   The furnace ticks, then gusts, A crown of blue flame behind the grillwork. Still, the house is cold.   If I listen, I can hear the recluse spider As it inches into its exile. A sudden drizzle casts its aspersions.

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Eric Pankey is the author of many collections of poetry, most recently Not Yet Transfigured (Orison Books, 2021). A chapbook called The Future Perfect: A Fugue is forthcoming from Tupelo Press. Pankey is the Heritage Chair in Writing at George Mason University.

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By Eric Pankey

The sky is indigo and potash: The lodestar banked and maculate. The evening star affixed by salts.   I take as my shelter a mirage. In these shadows, a legion […]

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