Poetry Issue 24


Patrick Pritchett

Bright Curve

Who, under sun, will make
the turn, speaking dust,
pouring lists, from horizon
to the stairwell of the neck?

Grain over grain
the minutes coil & shiver
as flickers inside
the encrypting wind.

Where the page bleeds white
the longitudes of silence ensue.
Loss equals plenitude.
The open site of the wound.

That is the book. The central room.
Water flowing over water.
The longing for inscription
held in liquid syllables.

The O of bending
within the mouth
of wind as crystal fume
amid hollow blue wood.

The chambered word, echolalic,
font, foam, saber, hood.
Stanza for the standing
of the brightness of the curve.