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Evan Stephens
Poems
Jan 6
Falling Back Into Things
All things change to fire,
and fire exhausted
falls back into things.
-Heraclitus
Black block grove and glade -
it's all translated to wet geometry
by the patina of the rain slant...
It's like a spell has been laid on this place.
We are those without bedtimes,
the quick pestles of clocks grind
past Friday night into Saturday,
the sky tinted, louched:
greening cloudy wash wringing
opals into the late softened minutes.
Things fall back as they were before:
night dissolves in the cold window hood
until the only dark things left are hands,
unstill under sheets of morning lake.
Second draft
Written by
Evan Stephens
44/M/DC
(44/M/DC)
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