October 29, 2010

& then afterward

by Nate Pritts


I woke to early sun:
burning of fire, & then afterward.

We kept reaching
through the long night.



the small deceptions
we allow ourselves:
a sickness, unchecked.
Like this:


& first sunlight.
Snow continues.
I could never close my eyes to light.

But there was no light
& you looked like night.


There must be a pattern,

snow slow-dropping in wet clusters
through the wooden arms
of empty trees.


Sun fingering its way
through branches

I’d hung my life on.
We don’t matter a bit; realization
forces our eyes closed—


A sickness, unchecked, like this.
I’d hung my life on

burning of fire, & then afterward.


Our arms together
we searched for patterns

& sunlight.


Our arms laced together,
pointing together
over wind-tossed grasses.

Us: waist deep in night blue.


There was no light.
You pointed.


Sun overhead,
you pointed
to the wind-tossed grasses.
This is a memory now.


Together in that first sun,
so vivid:
there must be a pattern

I’d hung my life on.


Snow dropped in clusters,
staggered & jagged.

We don’t matter a bit.


Reflected in lake water:
all these things I’ll forget.


Our arms together

but we keep reaching
over the wind-tossed grasses.


Black smoke curling:

the importance
of night-blue field grass,


the importance of.

The stars are close; we try to hold together.


All this ends
but until then:

burning of fire, & then afterward.
The stars are close; we try to hold.
Such distance between the fallen!


Burning of fire, & then afterward.

You pointed.


Grasses silently fold,
a sickness, unchecked, reaching. Like this.

Wooden arms of trees
long since emptied.


This ends in darkness,
& all the stars within reach,
& other constellations.

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