It never ceases to unnerve me

It never ceases to unnerve me, planes
flying this high with plastic windowpanes.
Against my brow the inner of the two
is cold and on its flip side flecked with dew.
Beyond the outer, strands of water vapor
drift like disassembled tissue paper,
or like the fingers of the mist advancing
through rose and lilac bush and chain-link fencing.
I can remember summer morning fog
peopled by no one but the odd gull or dog
(invisible), and sounded on the hour
by the bells ringing in St. Mary’s tower,
bells that deepened, not dispelled, the silence,
bells one can hear out on the harbor islands,
they say, on a still day. Star of the Sea,
Mother of God, Mary, pray for me,
pray for my mother, Mary, and my father, John.
Always, but now, especially, and while we’re gone.

Bill Coyle

Bill Coyle

Bill Coyle is a doctoral candidate at Boston University’s Editorial Institute.  His book The God of This World to His Prophet, won the New Criterion Poetry Prize in 2006. His most recent publication is a volume of translations of the Swedish poet Håkan Sandell, Dog Star Notations: Selected Poems 1999-2016.
Bill Coyle

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Author: Bill Coyle

Bill Coyle is a doctoral candidate at Boston University’s Editorial Institute.  His book The God of This World to His Prophet, won the New Criterion Poetry Prize in 2006. His most recent publication is a volume of translations of the Swedish poet Håkan Sandell, Dog Star Notations: Selected Poems 1999-2016.