Of Contour, of Cadence by Phillip B. Williams

Of Contour, of Cadence

 

Resist, don’t: the difference between what one thinks

the magnolias say—branches applauding

some animal act below—and what

they actually say…nothing

 

between us can

we prepare for, only postpone. I’ve learned

 

to plead and to please, another difference.

 

~

 

Turn your face that way where light no more

transfigures you than darkness makes a need for

transfiguration. Yes, the scar above your eye.

 

Blood had dropped from the wound, a curtain.

 

But I believe we are, inside, all blue, you said.

Listen, neither we nor blue make sky.

The earth spins and we, utterly, are spun.