how like an eye
whatís in there?
but getting to the background
herring, a slave to scripture. count my way
out. which word is the exit door?
now letís cut back to you. the plethora of
images i am putting together to house you.
but when i eat itís solid thing, like a right word
all this and about beauty. what do we have
eyes for? i can shut them and make love,
i have a fountain of desire and i draw letters
like light resting on a body water
He told me to write the sun sags like a breast in the sky.
Remembrance is mourning. Over and over the
loved one, to memory.
You try not to look at your hands, the age in them. Similarly, you avert the image of your body as you see it sometimesóhideous, not the way you dreamed it. And what about the other dreams? Do feelings in older people change like their bodies; soft, past crisp, colored leaves scattered all over the drive?
His voice particular, the inside of a menorah. Silver and warm at the same time.
The world shattering like teacups. quiver.
Silent moss and fingers of light. purple moonlight in thin air recalcitrant take a few steps back, sharp now. What meets the eye meets a feather.
Retrace, sift, for something previously unfound.
Numbness like a cloud. condensed water.
Bio: Shira Dentz’s
poems have appeared and/or are forthcoming in various journals and anthologies
including FIELD, Seneca Review, Chelsea, American Letters & Commentary,
Salt Hill Journal, Barrow Street, The Journal, and Facture. She received
the Poetry Society of America’s Lyric Poem Award in 2002, and was
the finalist for PSA’s Cecil Hemley Memorial Award in 2001. She
has had poetry air on National Public Radio, and recently her manuscript
was a finalist for the Walt Whitman Award. She is a writer, graphic artist
and copy editor living in Brooklyn, New York.