h o m e........
p a s t   i s s u e s....
s u b m i s s i o n s....
l i n k s

 

 

.........
JOSHUA MARIE WILKINSON  



...........
The Easement


   

Something is always missing
& its absence itself is a thief
of air from the imagination’s
zeal for a sieve. To know the stars
by their pattern & holes,
to know the song by the thrash
of its early feedback, to know
the child by the smell of her hair
& to align the wind, to set it
up against us.






.............
The Easement

   

A rustling rushes through the trees as through a lush meadow
& gets its folds to open, unquilted
with your fingers—to hide
to disappear, to widen out from below, catching
the rain in your hands, the sun
in your ears & eyes.
To outlast the beer at a stool amid blather—
To keep the night down at the sock
& boot & star & grime.






.............
The Easement


 

What I’m saying now isn’t said by me.
Yet the song upends the weird air that
catches a flue in the room
& does some untangling
in the voices, as with steam
in the reeds, a gale
in the willows, some drift
of drizzle through a cloud
it won’t part from.







...........
The Easement

  

A girl bends to study the wax
& finds a print of her own
light there—unshadowed
showing her the line
of obscured thread a
wire above throws
to the ground leading off
to a barndoor, open
a little on the left &
new sounds bristling, brining
salting, erring, to tell
the girl a story to share
again with a friend.

 

 

 

Bio: Joshua Marie Wilkinson’s recent works are Swamp Isthmus (Black Ocean), A Little Slash at the Meadow (above/ground), and The Courier’s Archive & Hymnal (Sidebrow Books). He lives in Tucson, where he is an editor of The Volta and Letter Machine Editions.




 

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