Monday, June 10, 2024


Walking the Night Woods, Taking the Darkness

into the Cells of My Body, I Realize All I've

Ever Realized Is Words Only and, Thus,

Only Part of Who I Am

And stood in a star-sparked meadow. And heard

lost parts of myself in the barred owl's screech,

thunder in the long wood. Cutover I

walked through. Deadfall in the hardwood river

bottom. Chokecherries. Ripple-wind. Marshy

maidenhair ferns among the hummock scrub.

Said I wished I. Said words that wouldn't work.

Said and said till I broke the saying whole.

Yes, I'm a hound-blur man. Scent is the way

I speak. Rabbit-scratch. Quail boiling out

of thicket cover. Fractured word-fracture

toward the primordial pull of pre-phrase

sound. Midnight as dawn in sugar maples.

Oak. In hound-dog snout taking in the ground.


George Kalamaras

What My Hound Dog

Is Scenting Through

the Sloughgrass Is a

Way of Scenting Me

Wolfson Press, 2023