Silkgray morning, a mockingbird, a dog at the hand of its master whining
w/ joy. I drink in the morning & it is beautiful, the cherries crawl
w/ blosmë, the Greek letter frat boys sing, there will be an eclipse. Is pain grief,
Redeemer of the dust? If only I could comb this chaff from my voice,
this death from my body. Turn my eyes to my this-world father & see cross-
shape; turn them inward & see cross-shape; to the suns & the other
heavenly bodies: cross-shape. Raise to yóu, Lord, this empty lyric, this prayer-
form, this deep contrivance in “the world’s armed space.” Will
my body mourn its own passing? Night that has no interior image
of itself climbing blindly toward the dayspring, do not be jealous. I will drink
through your holy dark hours also as the moon spins its hood of raw silk,
the great cities falling like snow & history naked in the light of its final syuzhet.
Toby Martinez de las Rivas has published three collections with Faber & Faber: Terror, Black Sun, and Floodmeadow. He has a selection in Penguin Modern Poets 7: These Hard & Shining Things and is the Blackburn Distinguished Artist in Residence at Duke University.
Photo by Anne Nygård on Unsplash
