I relish this silence
Of the wide window,
And the sun's pale exertion
through the magnolia tree.
But can verse, schooled,
Raise the scent of these
New England shutters,
April's fists of flowers?
Nearby a pair of students
will curve their bed
With the insistence
that's sent the river
Against our boots on the trim lawn.
Will they be brought to justice?
Yes, and maybe those clouds are
Distinguishable after all
From the rutting magnolia bursts.
Flames are gone from prim fireplaces;
We are in this smooth shell of a day
That enters, with notions, by my door.
Light, shadow show different by minute
Under the pale black leaves
and the ten bold strokes on warm bricks
from who knows where
So, trellis with gentian flowers of a similar day
nearer the ocean --
There's no moment. of
time standing at the beck of shade jumping in sun
and a lifting air breeze.
There's a camera, pushing
Into a long alley
blue, large names
No doubt banal
stairs up one side
something floor following
always trapped by
A matter of duty:
threading a room
peopled, sexed, gendered
But no exit
but exit and flow
This is better than light! It pulls at your jaw. Unlaces your bone-white arms.
Flings your thin summer wrapper. into the hurly-burly sea.
This is no oil painting. It’s not Proust. Or some "rite of passage."
It’s a ditch dug in fury. A shot heard down the meadow.
You can sketch it. Hum it. Carry it along.
It will be with you.
Blow Ye Winds
the cloth waving outthrough
the white cross window
this blowing on stunted legs
the blank tapestry of their curtain
William V. Ray is a retired English teacher who has also been a textbook editor, freelance writer, and, of late, a café owner. His published work includes textbooks as well as poetry and poetic prose. He is the editor of the online journal The Courtship of Winds <www.thecourtshipofwinds.org>. He lives outside Boston, Massachusetts. For more detail, please visit his page at LinkedIn: <https://www.linkedin.com/in/williamvray>
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