ISSUE: Winter 1993
1.
Window
lying in the thistle
eye that never closes
burnt chimney
rising above the goldenrod
like Christ blessing the children
iron hinge
in the ashes
wings that fell to earth
broken teeth of the cemetery fence
a sacred harp
rusting
shadows
of the mournful cypress
house I was born in.
2.
The sky gives up
goes dark
willows
in their poorcoats
weep quietly by the stream
the maples
homeless
their kingdom of leaves
fallen in ruins
three crows
black prophets
lift up from the dirt road ahead
black pods of the catalpa
hanging
like our other lives
—stillborn.
