Academic journal article Chicago Review

Waiting for Harvest Moon

Academic journal article Chicago Review

Waiting for Harvest Moon

Article excerpt

Shadows thrown by people on a wall,

A fragile charm, and they stand upright.

More often the flat shadows, horizontal

On a paving stone. You tread on them.

No, the shadows are not thrown at all.

If it be said that some shadow defined

Significant bodies in a Venetian painting,

Then shadows can be considered transitive.

At a weigh-station on the highroad

Nobody weighs the shadow of a truck.

Weightless, transitive, phrases connect,

In which relief, creation of a human eye

Where nothing's flat, nothing falters,

Airy polygons go at their earthy play.

The shadow secreted in one vocable

Mates with another vocable, and not,

Not with the shadow it secreted:

Fountain. Orphan. Suspect.

Or does the track hereabouts vanish?

Darkest at the point of its inception

The shadow brightens, unless the vocable,

Or body, on this line of sight, bites back

That spasm, and its artificer moves on

And on: to penetrate the carnal.

No again. A body designs to be all in one.

Ashes are illuminated by Acheron,

For the sounds imply a life inseparable,

A drifting net to trawl the shallows

Which, being lifted in, hauls up the herring.

Yet, heavens above, heavens below, how many

Shadow languages not yet extinct abuse

By definition us - and for their sport:

Uncovered on the Gobi floor, an axe

Of jade, but jade, what use had that? …

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