|
For the Frozen Wood Jesse Graves
At dawn, drifting snow gave the sky back to itself brighter than its first falling, inviting some fool out to stand slack, watch the slow light come crawling to itself brighter than its first falling. I’m the perfect fool for a day like this watching the slow light come crawling, erasing the ground’s darkened canvas. Some would call me a fool for saying this, but I hear their voices and see lost faces rising from the ground’s dark canvas, my dear ones searching for their places. I hear soft voices and see the loss in faces shaped like hollow versions of my own, my departed searching for the places where their bodies faltered and went down in shapes like hollow versions of my own, inviting some fool out to stand slack where their bodies faltered and went down at dawn, snow giving what the sky takes back. Originally appeared in Pisgah Review |
Return to Spring 2008 Table of Contents