Brian Curling   © 2012 All Rights Reserved

Poem After Wallace Stevens
                  
These locusts by day, these crickets by night


Together they rise into the air, the soft ones
and the hard, making shapes—fishes by day,
and by night, who can say, as the stars

slowly erase themselves. What was that shadow?
Perhaps a cornfield, judging from the smell,
or a company of bats squealing reels seven

octaves to the north of that fence-posted
treble clef. Then, come twilight, we hear
the creaking ropes lowering curtains,

one wise spider changing seasons:
the time of light, the time of night, cold
light, cold night, and still they rise, shape

of a man with whom we would wish to speak:
grant us this, we call up to the air, and
crickets fall, locusts fall, the sky is clear.

 

 

Charles Wyatt
Copyright © 2012  

Charles Wyatt is the author of two collections of short fiction, a novella, and two poetry chapbooks. He was principal flutist of the Nashville Symphony for 25 years.


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