Summer 1987 • Vol. IX No. 3 A Poem |

A Momentary Order

He's spent this long hot morningin my neighbor's yard. Where weedswere so thick their thin stalks hauledgrowing clumps of earth alongboth sides of walks and their rootsstretched the limits of the earthin affirmation of whatwould outlast cement—the willof chaos at the heart ofa more primal energy—hecarved clean, wide, precisely-edgedand hosed-down paths gleaming towardthe center of a newerand imagined world insidethe old. And he trimmed bushes:spring's bright forsythias thatbloomed ecstasies of suns,small galaxies of sharp andyellow stars of burning sapthat swirled about themselves inan orbit of fierce light andthreatened to become word, here,in our backyard next to thatleaning fence—until the bloomsconsumed themselves by the fireof their breath, leaving small, blackopen mouths in the traceryof branches wild with photosynthesis; dark green cedarserecting spheres of fragranceshimmering above circlesof shorn limbs, pools of odorall around themselves, aroundhim who released the ge

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Angelic Orders

By A. Poulin, Jr.

He's spent this long hot morningin my neighbor's yard. Where weedswere so thick their thin stalks hauledgrowing clumps of earth alongboth sides of walks and their rootsstretched the limits of […]

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