It Is Not This Night’s Poem by John Scott Traczyk

Again
with grainy rivers pooling rust
my legs dredge heavy on
through thickened mire
and wearying palms
of the thousand voices
burnt white as ghosts
from cold and jaded flames

Here I find my face is piercing
eyes locked upward
in a critical hunt
one hand above the other
channeling wave of wave
of unseen sleeping sounds of stars
warning unforgiveness to the deep

In blackened horror
coyotes run lost to caves of dread
hiding the chalk of fangs from light
jackals scream
at the trumpets of the night rogues
those who come thrashing talons of slivering sand

This
all under the breath
of the essence of an infinite blood

Raging now
the fracture of the earth’s in birthing
a global desert dirge of mourning

God cries with me
that this his yearning sun’s twilight
grows thickening soil black to steel
his daggered silence splits air to sunder
and without a glance behind to stone

jt 4/09