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Two Poems


Skims and quivers up the rock-wall,

Insinuates itself between chipped mortar
And a holdfast of lemon thyme

And is gone, resorbed again into stone.

As he opens the door and a new day enters with him.

He moves from room to room,
Pulls the black crepe from the mirrors,

Speculation on the Dark Ages

Beneath a lexicon
Of fires, floods,
And invasions,

Deep within
A grammar of cinders,

And colluvium,
One finds amid
The toppled ramparts

And watchtowers,
An articulation of
A world that was,

However provisional,
Like the gas
And dust trail

Of an imploded,
Now vanished galaxy,

Eric Pankey

Milkweed Editions

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