Winter 2013 • Vol. XXXV No. 1 Poetry |

Presence

Bring on the unborn, the as-yet        unreleased—let the sand trap convex, turn mechanism        at the throat's base, beating gold with the threat of steeped        branches, bleating over and over-tired till the hash        of rain no longer treads lightly, thrushes hunger        fallowly abroad, chest whips tree-long, under its own        houses, its burnished hair— pockets of evening menace,        oiled scallions, roots catalyze the pot into ash, the pan        into blackness, banging ceasingly the steel-cut        edge—let knees be a flicker of over, feet find light sleep        under ribs—seahorse battling affliction of undamaged        fluid, meadow in the hip of presence, angled forward        till only grass, only field-rot, finds blooms—now harkens,        multiplies to a thousand

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