Wave Books, 2015
TURNED
A notch
at the top of the mountain —
the eye
without a thought
threads the sky through.
How hours take
the stain of hours
and hold beneath their bloom
these things arranged
to resemble a season.
Summer's hum and lag.
To walk into it —
breathe the frequencies
that knot the air, another
animal baffled
to be an animal.
ON MIGRATION
A split glyph
drags south
over a parking lot.
The suction
of dusk.
We watch it
wrest
margin
from margin.
Your face
in the half-light.
The aphasia
of the shape
of your face
in the half-light.
Autumn
embalms
the hour.
from TAKE PLACE
As if a field guide
could prevent
the present
from disintegrating
around us.
~
A noun
staggers through
the gloam, the
indescribable
color
opening, closing.
from ILLOCALITY
To imagine a morning
the first
sounds from the street
and the house, its halls
scarifying
consciousness
Antique glass
smudges limbs
(more blue
than green)
flared out
over a roof
To imagine
the raw circumference
of a field
as it wakes
what we make of it
where our senses
send us
————————————————
JOSEPH MASSEY
Illocality
Wave Books, 2015
http://www.wavepoetry.com/products/illocality
