Saturday, September 22, 2018


Knopf 2014


Street Corner

There was an angle

where I went for

centuries not as a

self or feature but

exhaled as a knowing

brick tradesmen engineered for

blunt or close recall;

soundly there, meanings grew

past a second terror

finding their way as

evenings, hearing the peppermint

noise of sparrows landing

like spare dreams of

citizens where abstraction and

the real could merge.

We had crossed the

red forest; we had

recognized a weird lodge.

We could have said

song outlasts poetry, words

are breath bricks to

support the guards singing

project. We could have

meant song outlasts poetry.


Brenda Hillman
Pieces of Air in the Epic
Wesleyan 2005