by Sam Rasnake
“like a relic of a holy swim”
— Frank Stanford
Hearing you read these words,
your breath displacing like water
everything I'd learned, your voice
exactly what I imagine the deep
walls of space must have felt when
God spoke the first time in a language
completely new and ancient, like
a fence post leaning toward creek
bank, tiny fish in a shimmer against
cool stone, wind in magnolia leaves
a gift for the sun to ease itself into
while a chorus of cicadas remind
the world of its dark beauty and
summer of its rest, like thread
slipped to the tongue by determined
fingers before being pressed through
the needle's eye, the sleeve's tear
waiting for loops to make it whole,
for my life to unwind itself like
a spool left in a closed drawer
All rights reserved.
I could count on one hand the poems I've written that I like. This is one of them - but maybe for the wrong reason.
Have I told you Frank Stanford is one of the best poets I've ever read? Short list. When I heard, for the first time, Stanford read one of his poems, I felt a ripple in the universe. Of course, none of this is provable.
No information here about Stanford -- maybe too much about the hand that wrote it.
Published in The Miscreant.