print previewback G.C. WALDREP
Canto Selah
for & after Karen An-hwei Lee
There is no identical
sculpture
of silence, night’s plane
edge pressed against
the upper
lip. You dress yourself
deep in the loss
of the moment, aspiring
to smelt
a cage from a star.
The grass is praying
in the capital
of grasses, which is lit
at both ends
like a city on fire.
It does not know tides.
It buries its face
in the shadow
of justice’s flat well.
I warm my hands there
even
when the mirror
repeats its only curse,
which is
Son. Son. Son. Son. 
Canto Selah
three from elegy for simone weil
Renault / Paris / 1935
Watch the Lame Beast Turn
Adelma (Harrisville, N.H.)
Merleau-Ponty