The Brooklyn Rail

For John Hull

Aiming the pain

you hurl yourself into

the blindman’s fog

bluff of snow

(slowly you lose your left

shoulder el-

bow) Unfrozen now

breathing shadows flee

the Father-Who-Sees-in-the-Dark

Footfall crows

leaking heart of a clock

Crossing against the light

coal trucks thunder over

Iron Mountain

With a blank look & a white stick

you follow curved 2’s of swans on slate

dead letter of a smile

an unruly line on holiday

In the wild wetness

the everywhereatonceness

of this blessed fall

a voice appears to you

cloaked in the luminous mantle of rain

Gazing upon the face of waters

a hand lifts the veil

from scepter & snai

unwraps its darkly paradoxical gift

Beloved object

wing of morning

shining shining at the end of days

someone sees you