he will see me in the garden
where nothing has ever grown
except lank hair and moss
wild across the broken sundial.
he will wait there by the crumbling nymph
whose stone fingers can still be seen
clenching a bouquet of flowers, white,
the last of the season, before the feast
of Bacchus waged drunken through
the copse like a carnival
and tore all life up by the roots,
leaving the poor girl in a state of
marbleized ecstasy, yearning, entropy.
he will wait for me and i will attempt
once more to turn the dial’s twisted hands while
straightening my hair, my best tweed trousers--
together, a triad beckoning the earth to yield
what the body, in its half season,
seems to relinquish so easily.
kris t kahn’s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in various publications, including The Cortland Review, Sulphur River Literary Review, 42opus, Circle Magazine, Stirring, 3 A.M. Magazine, Scarlet Letters, Tryst, Samsara Quarterly, and The Melic Review. He is the author of two chapbooks, The Gospel According to Thomas and For a Ghost: Poems and Arguments Against Leaving, as well as the editor in chief of the online journal, Sometimes City (http://sundress.net/sometimescity). He lives in New Jersey.
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