Poetry Vanessa Young — November 3, 2011 17:23 — 0 Comments
White – Vanessa Young
Let us make no angels finding none here.
Leave imprints of better selves for muddy days
with long light to make goodness indelible.
Set tracks heavy-footed
and though they seem bleached solid
the air is scented with all that does not last.
Still I recall that fantastic experiment
of an object occupying two spaces
and it was not an infinitesimal speck.
So we are here yet perhaps it has rained after all
and these trees cast short shadows
where they do not cover our marks in fallen snow
in spiny things, downed branches.
What am I?
Bioluminescent eye
That sees by the shine
Of its own light. Lies
Blind me. I am the seventh human sense
And my stepchild,
Consequence;
Scientists can't find me.
Januswise I make us men;
Glamour
Was my image then—
Remind me:
The awful fall up off all fours
From the forest
To the hours…
Tick, Tock: Divine me.
-- Richard Kenney