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06.09.20
Lychnoscope
From Watch Night
Axis Mundi

fallen lamps of frost
ignite
an old-fashioned eye

the noise of iron’s
chthonic blaze
                 —metanoia
a blanched clove


so much          pain
is, ultimately,
            trigonometric
spun out
from the annular gash


but the eye
                     pools—
its brief awl
widows the gold sill

its tungsten-stain

collapsed
to altitude’s margin


Pentecost’s
my father, my mother
was a shadow
       but the eye, O

let its god ember

let it womb & pearl

against
day’s ecstatic lathe


 



(narthex)

the violet leaping
its crux
& choir, bed

staved in splay—

Galilee
plot of sweet
snare,
             confer

your pilgrim-
mark,          blue

in the aisle’s
reedy flask,

round & round

in my thin coat,
scion
of terror’s

compact water—


 



Stokesdale

that mineral sacrifice, nacre-pled
a knitted there

the commercial
pleat, which the body recognizes
squint
of your courtesy, liege & master

*

veined density        of appraisal’s
plasmic inflorescence—

*

(I slip the shoes
into their dusky crowns, upflung
a physician’s
fire, such              velvet meats


to begin with the law,
                     to transcend the law
of clay—

of the sounding lute, entablature

*

nocked
against the breath’s    taut cord—


 



Night Watch (Maurice Blanchot at Giverny)

my altar-habit, incinerating—
warm
the glands—

complemented glyph or rune

spectral,
at the boundary-banquet—


optical
curd of speech
milk’s prim flank or smolder


the witnesses damage
themselves, or
                        are damaged,

“drew a comb
across his charred throat”—


(in the bleak fastness
of the ex-
                        cavated solar,
not even birdsong,


praise’s jeweled cautery—


 



Night Watch (Sinai)

priestly interruption
the hostel’s
lone, bedighted guest

murmurs
in his sleep—
a trick of the light?

beneath
the noun, & the noun’s

progeny

(& thus
             unlike music,
towards which it
makes a silent bow)


their narrow keys


(the desert
withdraws
into its brief echo)


(placed in the basket
the severed wings
rustle,
expel their wax)


under the ladder

(but oh
I am running
out of baskets, Lord)

G. C. Waldrep’s most recent books are feast gently (Tupelo) and the long poem Testament (BOA Editions). Other recent work has appeared in The American Poetry Review, New England Review, Yale Review, Iowa Review, Colorado Review, New American Writing, Conjunctions, etc. Waldrep lives in Lewisburg, PA, where he teaches at Bucknell University and edits the journal West Branch.