Blackbird Archive← v4n1, Spring 2005Poetry · Volume 4, Number 1
During Fever
Caustic wisp of malaria
like woodsmoke near the nose,
tumult of decisive blood
en route from twinkling docks,
a pressing of your figure
like a handle into the earth.
Landscape remains portable,
the hills rise into your temples.
Leafy coils roll south
under black vaults of storm
soaking your rage,
fading your lids a gradual suede.
The trees jitter above you:
pin oak, pine, litany of maples.
Roaring sun, imploding roar:
death like death only.
