Snowfallen that gathering. Aspect of woven
pine by which by
gathering
dreamlessly. As if still dreamlessly. As if
still therein. Syntactic that gathering
by which
your absence already begins
to be given already. In other words
other words only your open
eyes unlike eyes only
will winter still read.
Illegible violence. Words lovely once budded. Words
once which turned soft. On your lips. On your honey
sweet lips are turned back
into bleeding then
back into iron. Rogue iron. The likes of which
striking no radical fire no fire
worth striking
no fire of lovely. Words
written worth bleeding no fire worth being
inspired of late.
As iron adrift in such distance. As soft as snow leaves you.
No longer. To be there. Receive there.
All that which that by which you
only at last you
become now as utterly as yet. One whisper
transfigured by winter. One whisper
which therein like soft lace
now binds
your throat only your wide throat which
therein is wounded. Still wounded. So
secretly therein is wounded
by iron. So wide in such distance.
Andrew Maxwell is from Bucks County, Pennsylvania. His poems have previously appeared or are forthcoming in Lana Turner, Colorado Review, antiphony, Conjunctions, and ballast, among other places.
