Fall 1982 • Vol. IV No. 4 Poetry |

Repeal of the Leash Laws

Now, in the scattering layers of early October,when the browning sun strings its staffsin the tart smoke, I cannot singexcept as grackle or sprung radio: not the shushof ground water from my artesian home,fisting the shale for the clear leap,nor the hesitant leak of color from the deep-browed oak. Sometimes, still, a dream shakes this chemical meatthat I have bonegathered, a clear, clerical lust.Sometimes I lay down all variety on the vanityand step barefaced into the gravityof a woman's whole, trembling attention,folding into better uses of our sad, beautiful presence.So I sang, and will again. Now her leafpile sweateropens its wings from moth air.Her skintan sparks and crackles as she standson the corner, hugging the chill of her shoulders.The bus exhales beside her.This is poetry on the buses. It may be that knuckling the doors in causeof snail darter or the relocation of treesis worthy of this fitful passion. God, I had meantto stay upwind of these sour passions to be righ

Already have an account? Login

Join KR for even more to read.

Register for a free account to read five free pieces a month from our current issue and digital archive.
Register for Free and Read This Piece



Or become a subscriber today and get complete, immediate access to our digital archives at every subscription level.

Read More

Night Constable

By John Woods

Now, in the scattering layers of early October,when the browning sun strings its staffsin the tart smoke, I cannot singexcept as grackle or sprung radio: not the shushof ground water […]

Subscribe

Your free registration with Kenyon review incudes access to exclusive content, early access to program registration, and more.

Donate

With your support, we’ll continue 
to cultivate talent and publish extraordinary literature from diverse voices around the world.