← v14n2, Fall 2015
Poetry · Volume 14, Number 2

[Shadow, you’ll travel to what waits ahead]

Shadow, you’ll travel to what waits ahead—

a house composed of snow, an empty bed.

If you linger before exposure

there will be marsh light, an open window,

a soft sound floating like a ghost above

the pond. Dear dark self,

this life is a glove

of matchsticks and sorrow. So, why do we

search so hard for that hand of gasoline?—

always craving the blue blaze that will erase

us. When all that’s left will be a sooted space,

a lover’s charcoal tracing, sunspot of loss

and levin. Keep moving, hungry one. With no

moon to guide you, the only way to cross

over is to slip on the black hood and go.