Sarah Gridley

Under the Veil of Wildness

1.

 

I call the main body, marker: a standing as if

 

in stead of. Or else a thing stooped down upon, and snapped. From branch I call

 

the main body, bramble: crescive glow from a crusted switchbox. On and off until a kind

 

of curfew comes. I call the main body, espoused. Line of symmetry inside, trench between

 

two lungs for the twoness of, the two-timedness of breathing. By oxygen-drawn sheerness

 

into red I call the branches to describe themselves…               

 

 

2.

 

Looking quietly at a trumpet, its flared bell, its blackness encompassed by brass I said

 

wait

 

at a black fruit in seas of prickers I said wait.     A body is mainly its branches

 

branca               claw paw hand             its tender

 

and untender branches.

 

 

3.

 

A wealthy sound in velvet niches, silver bedded with silver. Draw the curtains

 

for candescence, candlestubs in silver antlers. The sun coughs down

 

auroras, illumines branches of

 

extinction. Beneath the tree a childhood coffer, a peony and

 

an acorn smell.