Today's poem is by Joshua Poteat
I see fireflies as perforations, the meadow
as graphed squares of abandonment.
This is no way to live. And vision isn't insight,
it's almost ephemeral, though how much
can the sky take of the moon's constant betrayal,
while the sun is burning off its orphans below?
Sharpened at an angle, the moon slits the hill, sifts the wind
for truths, no death to hide. I once thought
that fireflies could speak, across the woods
their message wavering after twilight had gone
and left us alone, the shadow of my lost hand
haloed with crushed moths. What is spun out
in devout silence falls eventually to ruin, coarsens
our every veil. I should have known.
All of our endings cannot be turned away.
The fireflies are content to outlive me.
Cocoons frail winged in sleep can't wait to outlive me.
This is a matter for the moon, momentary bower
where the fences are down and the animals
do not move for fear or sadness.
What I want from God is to dissolve the stars
inside our vessels, to hum with the tincture
of the pure in the studied, numerous leaves.
Copyright © 2009 Joshua Poteat All rights reserved
from Illustrating the Machine That Makes the World
The University of Georgia Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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