I – Wordsworth didn’t have cable,
trapped, as it were, by a mold-covered window
where wildebeests could be herding past
and he couldn’t see them for the candlelight
and all its flickering storybook effluvium.
II – Stairs wind in an intemperate brook,
grateful for harmony that offends bishops.
The long silence of mist and snow, splitting
milk from statistics in confessive lullaby,
craze the moon. The Nineteenth Century
and its reminiscence can at last reach dialogue.
III – The Rave of autumn, its match lit in shadow,
dreams in old politics. The wreath of those words
respire starlit incantations only the departed
can fully forgive. Blessed be their waxen faces.
Adam Henry Carrière is a former NPR broadcaster with a BA in Film & Video from Columbia College and an MA in Professional Writing from the University of Southern California. He has taught writing at both his alma mater, for the US Air Force locally and for the US Navy across the Pacific. Born on the South Side of Chicago, Adam now resides in Las Vegas, where he has won a Nevada Arts Council Fellowship in Poetry and publishes Nevada’s first online literary magazine Danse Macabre and its daily gazette, which you’re presently reading. He is the author of Miles (2013) , Faschingslieder (2014), and Shant (2017)
This was originally DM du Jour’s 1,000th post.