Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsFall 2015  Vol. 14 No. 2
an online journal of literature and the arts
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[Near dusk, near a path, near a brook]

Near dusk, near a path, near a brook. 
Near a minnow, near a ripple, near a rock—
the snowy anatomy of a horse 
skeleton eroding into nothingness.
All that moved was the rake of the late light
on the fall and fold of the long field. What 
if, just once, when the night pulled back its hood
to start its dark climb it noticed the dead?
What if we waited, grief eddying inside 
our chests, for the dead to rise and recognize 
us? But all that rose were streams. Were stars

what the gods gave up to come down among
the mortals (Near love, near beauty, near wars)?
Or are stars night’s notes to skin’s silent song?  end  

Beginning with a line from C.K. Williams’s “The Doe.”

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