Poetry Issue 2

   Issue#2: Jan - Mar 2003

Jose Perez Beduya


      I place the open book and my face
      above the street until the shadow of
      the earth forces the lamp lights on, and it becomes
      much blacker here in this box, this camera
      obscura, the print is barely understandable
      above the specter of the page, this dark returning
      much of the act of reading to the realm
      of the physical, although we know it is closer
      to painting made not senseless but more acute
      after the fact of film because the retina
      is after all a wall and light stops there
      and it is faith that continues,
      travels the length of the optic
      nerve. To correct the imbalance means
      that the room would have to find
      its reverse in the window and the man
      who is my looking, distracted by the noise
      of what goes on below, would have to lean
      across his desk to touch his flat,
      cold forehead against mine
      so that, in the shadow of the other, one of us
      might see the scenery