Four
for Joanne Kyger
Print
Throbs of words
This is a swelling
These are heaps
PYRE
piling rocks for you
missing all of you
the mystery of friends
we’ll mis-sing and misremember
we are the minds of this country
rich robes saying
walking strong and oblivious, with pomp and
we’ll accuse
Like a lantern
We’ll say
instead, in a passing
was a choosing
left embers burn out Time
Outliver, you
loose dirt and hasty
and poems,
are mine
what Eyes
PYRE
of taking
soaked into you as a message
of herbs
of oils
of wet ground
of char
a scent longer
what’s left is
to peel back
smokeshrunk
a casement
one goes to
it’s not an absence
each poem ajar
PYRE
the names to myself
and kept
I threw 3 coins
metals and fire—
the wind let out, singed
There would be
& hissing pebble
& rocks
All sticks
in these old kinds of poem
There would be no words
PYRE
Contributor
Mike CavutoMike Cavuto is a poet from Philadelphia currently living in Brooklyn. He is a founding member of the Toronto-based pure sound collective Sex Panic! With Dale Smith and Hoa Nguyen, he edits the Slow Poetry in America Newsletter.
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