Fall Night
by PETER DEFAULT
I SHUT my eyes and a boy blinks
his tart smoke tear through my lashes
where he goes by bonfire and streetlight
scuffing up yellow leaves and ashes.
his tart smoke tear through my lashes
where he goes by bonfire and streetlight
scuffing up yellow leaves and ashes.
He goes — how simply. Mystery,
like their polarity to birds,
looks out of him. Question him, you
can’t yet touch him with words.
like their polarity to birds,
looks out of him. Question him, you
can’t yet touch him with words.
His images are muscular
like a dog’s dozing; now they ache
their autumnal ritual of football
played through the early dark — that break
like a dog’s dozing; now they ache
their autumnal ritual of football
played through the early dark — that break
into the open, running running
to the white end-zone of the year,
star-balanced and wind-cut, self-sprung
from shock and tangle . . . There was sheer
to the white end-zone of the year,
star-balanced and wind-cut, self-sprung
from shock and tangle . . . There was sheer
being of bounding buck, owl
wafting, wolf . . . Can you hear me? Boy,
Boy, till you’re bagged and mounted in
the Beautiful, enjoy enjoy!
wafting, wolf . . . Can you hear me? Boy,
Boy, till you’re bagged and mounted in
the Beautiful, enjoy enjoy!