Light Night

by James Schuyler

1

A tree, enamel needles,

owl takeoffs shake,

flapping a sound and smell

of underwing, like flags,

the clothy weight of flags.

A cone of silence stuck

with diamonds, the watch

she hunts, the frayed band

broke. It was a black night.

Dawn walked on it, the sun

set its heel. She won’t

find: a boundary of marsh,

the island in the wood.

2

Stoop, dove, horrid maid,

spread your chiffon on our

wood rot breeding the

Destroying Angel, white,

lathe-shapely, trout-lily

lovely. Taste, and have it.

3

In a rain-dusk dawn, the

clearing edge, the wood’s

fangs, the clear crystal

twist of a salival stream,

announce you hence. Tear

free of me, mountain, old

home bone, down sheer fear

tears mossed boulders

bound me, pool, deceptive,

trout-full, laugh and

chatter of finch and pecker,

gargle my liquor skin I

catch your face on. Scar

a look and leave. A rust

plush daycoach unfathers

me. A field of crosses. Let

iron clang iron.

more Schuyler at the November 2009 : Poetry Magazine