One has lived long enough Among rusted hills, and the solemn sunlight Spinning its steel shadows out of itself 5 Over those hills, thickly gathered at the arbor Where matted vines still move on the latticework, Purple embrasures, seeming almost to speak 10 In a light that is constantly fading, Shifting its emphasis, a sliding center That creeps over partial hills, Real where revealed, invisible elsewhere 15 Full of hidden masses and interior kisses The way a sliver of grass is an entire field of grass, The way a man represents a man, 20 Without feeling, in the inhuman landscape.
From the collection "Constellations in December"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.