Author: Peter Cole

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It stands for almost nothing—
this kitelike flame of soul-hovering
yellow and blue somehow fluttering
over a string and in
a wind that’s always blowing
face it…. again and again
amazing with a quiet glowing
so thin and yet it
fills the room and burns
through skin…….. like almost nothing

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Its leg buckling as it extends,
up toward something always beyond it,
it’s lamed, and maybe sublime. Wounded
loving learning, its goal a goad,
this letter holds…… for learning love.

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That god and good
…..as English words
rub elbows,
…..shoulders and
(though less likely)
…..far more private
parts is something
…..oddly absent
and at once

…..a given in
the almost always
…..resonant Scripture’s
Hebrew since
…..the deity there—
curiously plural
…..in its inflection,
meaning more
…..or less universal?—

saw what he’d done
…..and said it was just
that: good
…..(tov), as when
the mazal is
…..(or, one’s fortune),
for example,
…..this persimmon
in its bowl—

…..curve within
curve and amber
…..flesh like a
melon’s in
…..an ochre skin
slightly bruised
…..near mandarin
oranges set
…..beside the window,

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is all
that
might
yet
be
opening
once
again
although
a gain
is hardly
what
it brings
on,
more
a wanting
within
one,

a gap,
for song
perhaps
to start with.…