Another Rehearsal for Morning
after Lorine Niedecker
Beyond a hand held beyond itself the mist is too thick to see. A dream fragment (a phrase I wanted to remember) goes mute in this— extinguished. Call it consciousness. What we lose to recover. Acacia branches bend the hill's edge off-orange. A blur, a deeper blur. A clarity I can't carry.
Copyright © 2012 by Joseph Massey. Used with permission of the author.