By MARC VINCENZ.
•
Summer’s Surface
Crackling in
its gnarled edges
and warmed kinks,
we slip through
the noose of home
and prance out
into the white sails
of the big outdoors
where insects
are performing
in their whole-
some blue.
♦
To Exist as Mirage in the Vapor of Her Dream
The fluttering of wings
in this part of the forest
where there’s no turning
around—or on the beach,
in that crowd
of the unremembered,
an old freighter,
once a healthy giant,
now rocks forgotten
by all but these ravens.
♦
A Greek Tragedy
Crows litter
The countryside
In their glossy feathers,
Bunches of dry stems
Emerge from the earth,
A few webs of plastic
Hold on—little flags
Pointing the way—
I cross the road,
My skin a bolt
Of bleached fabric;
The old features
Replaced by heavier,
Hardened ones—
Impressive as cast iron,
But walking in the dark
Like a memory.
♦
MARC VINCENZ is a poet, fiction writer, translator, editor, musician and artist. He has published over 30 books of poetry, fiction and translation. His more recent poetry collections include A Brief Conversation with Consciousness, The Little Book of Earthly Delights, There Might Be a Moon or a Dog, 39 Wonders and Other Management Issues, and The Pearl Diver of Irunmani. His work has been published in The Nation, Ploughshares, Raritan, Colorado Review, Evergreen Review, Washington Square Review, Fourteen Hills, Plume, Willow Springs, Solstice, World Literature Today, The Golden Handcuffs Review, The Los Angeles Review of Books and many other journals. He is publisher and editor of MadHat Press and publisher of the journal New American Writing, and lives on a farm in Western Massachusetts where there are more spiny-nosed voles, tufted grey-buckle hares and amoeba scintilla than humans.
very cool poems, short and sweet! and precise. Ping