print previewback EDWARD MAYES
On Lines from Czesław Miłosz’s “Meaning”
A tireless messenger who runs and runs
—When was the last time I counted
The horses in their stalls, and did I count
Right, did all the numbers sum up how I felt,
One horse less today, one more gone
Tomorrow, until all that’s left is nothing, stable empty?—Or could I have had word blindness,
This word shifting the sands of that word,
The world whirled, turntabled, spun
Story, and when I have finished twisting
The fiber into thread, where is the needle, where is its eye?—Word has it, I’ve been weave and I’ve
Been woof, isn’t it the fabric of the river water
That gets washed, all day in tempo rubato,
Right hand freedom, left hand keeping
Time, run down the clock, all the grace notes falling?