print previewback EDWARD MAYES
On Lines from Czesław Miłosz’s “Meaning”
But just a thrush on a branch? If night and day
—Was it you who said you dreamed of
Someone’s peignoir getting caught on
Fire, buckets of water on the staircase,
And outside a songbird not on your playlist,
Or someone consistently sucking on a straw?—Just-folks here dividing up the crocuses, and
They will come back, that’s what I’m thinking,
Sinking into the soft ground, frog in my throat,
The horses in the field going all negative
On me with their failed attempts at hallelujah.—As I’ve often said, get oxygen from water,
Or walk it backwards, Iron, Bronze, Stone, nothing
Not always having been just nothing, since the calla
Lilies come back to me from their traumas, and I
Magically reenter my house, crossing once more its thresholds.