Three poems

by MICHAEL WRIGHT

Bonaventure, Oct. 6th

The sky is silk and bent
against Jackson’s pillar
Threads drip with morning shower,
begging for a fingertip
Soil platforms of perpetual care

But where are they now?
When the fences are compost
and the waterline crawls with hunger

Lewis triptych
Which was “my husband”
resting in blisses?

How many would have hated me?
For walking amongst them
For walking
For my footstep timpani like a flag
beating itself in envy of poppies
Flowers as blunt instruments
As flares for shadows holding shape

Calls trace the tablet palm
Pregnant with regret, comforted by
the reeds glancing unsaddled wings

Wielkanoc

Doors influenced open

We chased the night’s 
first expired breaths along
the streetlight’s pumice stems

Starlight perimetered the
cheek of a scallop moon’s iris
Endless as the lake and midnight conjoin,
collecting in the well of someday’s evening

Our toeprints blended with
aged snow. Shaved horseradish
and saline. Stark white arms,
porcelain foils for kielbasa
warmed to perfect failure

Your selfish ascent, a flight path for

an endless arrow the quiver forgave itself of

We died before your death

Oral

Every morsel of meat and fat
peeled from a rib bone

Now slick and ivory
as a soul’s skin, when intimate

Ritalin buried
on the playground

Biodegrade
Browning

Someday a splinter to be tweezed
before the days of rubber