Less and less sure, O soul, the rain Repeats its residuum Blanking church bells with its ultimate referent: Itself, or some other final thing 5 That bears the buffets of ceaseless existence Like a paper that rolls over in the wind Or the wind that rolls the paper, which, Startled itself, is full of paper sounds The mud on the moon illumes. 10 The rain is rasping against the panes. A dark, familiar change, Elusive elysium, starts at the edges of the ear, Chewed by flies in a forgetful sun, 15 Hollow as a father's falsest word Before drunken dinner, sheds its drunkenness On a few, familiar objects. What word will ward these mute excursions?
From the collection "Constellations in December"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.