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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[Shadow, you’ll travel to what waits ahead]

Shadow, you’ll travel to what waits ahead—
a house composed of snow, an empty bed.
If you linger before exposure
there will be marsh light, an open window,
a soft sound floating like a ghost above
the pond. Dear dark self, 
this life is a glove
of matchsticks and sorrow. So, why do we
search so hard for that hand of gasoline?—
always craving the blue blaze that will erase
us. When all that’s left will be a sooted space,
a lover’s charcoal tracing, sunspot of loss

and levin. Keep moving, hungry one. With no
moon to guide you, the only way to cross
over is to slip on the black hood and go.  end  

Beginning with a line from Jorge Luis Borges’s “To the One Who Is Reading Me.”

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