To receive the Quarterly Journal, become a member or purchase at our bookstore.
¤
October Dusk
Aspen leaves and blue spruce needles dissolve
in the dusk; looking through glass panes,
you suddenly see ceiling lights, a Bolivian
textile on a wall: when what’s behind becomes
what’s in front, you wince, draw circles,
and, deepening the graphite tracks on a page,
enact a noose; then a sliver of moon
in the sky’s a sickle; a twig fire crackles
at your feet; you whistle, ache, mar, step
out of a car to find bits of shattered glass
on asphalt resemble the ends of dreams;
as you flip bottles into a recycling bin,
each glass shatters: each dream collapses
into a pile of shards; as you toss the last
glass into the bin, you step out of another
transparent confine; and, as moonlight makes
a road on water, you have no word for
this moment that rides a wave stilling all waves.
¤