And this poem has an epigraph by Pablo Neruda.
But it is dedicated to Paul Celan,
who is a very big influence for me in this book, as was Morgan
Schulte, whom many of you know.
This is called "Until--" I need some water , excuse me-
"Until We Find You."
"Until we find you, nothing.
Until we kiss you, nothing.
Until we sing you, nothing.
Pablo Neruda.
Let us simply as soon as unhinged
that heart that weighted its flag over this zero,
over that non-existence, skeletal in the way
that only what remains.
Oh, hand, depositing itself in us, strewn as no other,
noting a wheel slow rolls out of itself.
The spokes climb, climb on a blackish field, noting nothing,
putting an end to nothing so long waited.
A mounting epic will arrive branch
by branch enough to blind or deafen as much by shoe shop,
as by glitter.
Will arrive as much by astronomical
error, as by rotting jammed with people,
as by cemented streets under stones.
Such a glorious and so fine a thread in time will arrive
a day in which that thing and its monster cannot capture,
in which that monster and its storm cannot figure.
A day in which the sky needs no stars, where
dawn as ever will ignite the horizon into flame
and turn away.