July 16, 2008


For a moment on rising, at the edge of the bed, to be,
To have the ant of the self changed to an ox…
—Wallace Stevens

The breadth of each thing loved
unloved from Euphrates to Mississippi nothing
escaping my dimensions jumping-
jack of each atom and megalith measured
perfectly in my armspan cast from
moon’s light why go further
except for an obedient and anxious horse
whose leapsense makes Earth fresh
as new apples warm as your hair though
awful the long ladder counting down
will you be watching guess nudge
the little pool—right more right since
one or more feet for the story of misfalling is old will
catch when everything falls back into
true shape and density the head of one name
pulped against one much harder.

—Nick Regiacorte

Posted by dwaber at July 16, 2008 02:34 PM