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Grey Sparrow Journal

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
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Gone Far Gone

 

Studying the distance

between obscurity and the clouds

circling low beyond the window

I am adjusting to the moment

just before the sun breaks

over the raised bank between

the silver field and the dark trees

 

what should I do with this time

when the world seems only mist

and forgetting when the hickory

bends slowly leftwards then right

what will I do except struggle

to understand night’s blued solidarity

 

how did you know happiness

so close to the moments we were

I could only see time

from such a height where vultures

were as appealing as hawks.

                                               

                                —M.P. Jones

 


Down the Oxbow


Cur of wildness harbinger of youth
photograph of yesterday’s emptiness
starless sky of complete forgetting
deceitful prince of passing memory
where did the river go where did it ever
come from as we watched it galloping
down the oxbow like some broken ouroborus
moving through locust and buckeye
slithering beyond where we could
see it and where did it ever go then
sliding underground into the bedrock
after these years you are still there
I can see your dark face so clearly
naked of the leash’s terrible design
waiting for me at the top of stone door
growling at the black-hooded vultures
as they made suicidal leaps look just now
over your shoulder in the March air
whose teeth on my flesh are now nothing
beside those headlights I confused
in the wild rain with some dawning sun
risen out of the blurred trees down
slick roads once more before it is never seen
except as words blinking on a bright screen.

                                                                

                                                            —M.P. Jones

 

 

 

Wood Drakes Bobbing on Dark Water

 

Fragments of the self refract

on a morning pond blending bulrush

border with cloud’s honeyed laughter

 

loam and spoil beneath the glassy speculum

awaken from their murky beds

by riven waves to bedim the mirror

 

and disrupt the sweet gum’s gentle artifice

flickering like darksome fire

outlying beyond reason

 

silvery as sunfish minnows

darting just out of reach.


                                         M.P. Jones