Brandon Cesmat

June 11th, 2017 by admin

From our 20th Anniversary Anthology

Light in All Directions Brandon Cesmat

Light in All Directions

I felt your gaze all day as you drove the road toward me. That night in the observatory, we leaned into the telescope, held our breath to focus on Jupiter with five moons each lit like half-closed blind eyes, all that old light taking eight minutes to reach us on a planet close enough to catch light from a star.
Then you found Saturn, made out the rings standing on knife-point and the band of shadow the dark older than the light the same dark just beyond the porch lamp, the same constant dark between any two people.
A star sends its light in all directions like a king dispatching navies that sink in the crossing except one ship that arrives as you have to make new whatever light survives. Under that dome, dark so people could see stars, I leaned against the wall and only your light fell onto me.
 New Poem

Howl, Hoot and Poem Disguise

             for Leonidas
1 a.m. and I can’t sleep like the owl in the pine outside the front door. He hoots a five-beat song with three notes. and then rests while a car passes over the hill.
A coyote above the hum of the air compressor on the casino roof. He cries again  at the top of the canyon. I harmonize an inversion; owl adds his refrain.
All of us nightsinging out, then breathing in and listening. What have we rustled out of cover? I’m hungry for sleep but too tired to tear the night apart and swallow it as the dawn will. At noon the canyon caves hold night’s tongue. Singing is the sound of hunger. It’s what we do with empty mouths. It’s what we live on when silence is not enough.

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