David Keplinger
I may remember of my life, a few moments of bewilderment in which I knew what being wild meant, mounting to the volta, the bolt of lightning
from the book Ice / Milkweed Editions

In our series Language as Form, we’ve invited poets to write about poetic language as patterned language—how words as sound, voice, sentence, and song become elements of form.

Heather Green on David Ferry's "Some Things I Said"
Photo: Heather Green
David Ferry
See, the dead bloom in the dark, I said                                                                      * The nightjar feeds while flying softly, smiling, smiling, I said
Amanda Gunn
bore its sloughings, bore its swellings, bore its manifold solitudes, and on the rare, keen nights it stayed with me, I bore its bright fragrant solitary intolerable pleasure.
Steven Espada Dawson
Brian went outside                              and left forever, took the rest of the silverware. Brian went outside and left a thousand doodles he drew,                                  every happy animal that wasn't him. We crumpled them like origami                                         roadkill.
Toshiko Hirata (translated from the Japanese by Eric E. Hyett and Spencer Thurlow)
Was the weather murderous or did branches betray their blossoms? Of the pathetic corpses that once covered the ground, not one petal remains. Gone, like nothing ever happened.
James Allen Hall
My mother said she would have aborted me, but the clinic was closed. When whales abandon a grieving mother, she does not find kindness again. Some lives are taken down to salt, some to water.

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