Poetry

LVI – Second Reading

we’ll start without knowing and get nowhere,
considering your dandelion-clock hair
as halo, your voice as trumpet call,
your being near as elixir. 

so I’ll fix on your self & to hell
with the skin – tell me this
does the soul weary, or stay
a firm-fast point? 

and if the ghost beats out of time
with the face, the clipping issues sure sign
that something was made out of joint

and, sure enough, I’m unsure, but behind you
flickers something broad, brute & divine;
that scarred retina double-image, my love. 

Alex Marsh