John Isles


Gospel, According to This Very Moment


Time for me to start leaving the words out

Time for you to start putting them back in

All the names falling from you like arrows—

Eros rearranging in deserts of vast eternity

Every pore—seething with instant fire

I emerge from zero—human—and there you are—

A window—body—fleshly field

I could call you unbearable nearness of the bride

Room of tongues you would talk me into

Birdly flame tearing open the fabric of this

Rectangle of the neighbor’s yard growing—out of view

The trees keep being “the trees”—water—keeps going

Flies hover in neutral air-space

The sound, a cloth of anesthesia, saturating the day

Dimming in dusk’s blanket amnesia—

Sleeper, who is not an arrow in a god-bow?


© 2008 Electronic Poetry Review