Back here, old snow like lace cakes,
Candescent and brittle now and then through the tall grass.
Remorse, remorse, the dark drones.
The body’s the affliction,
No resting place in the black pews of the winter trees,
No resting place in the clouds.
Mercy upon us, old man,
You in the China dust, I this side of my past life,
Salt in the light of heaven.
Isolate landscape. World’s grip.
The absolute, as small as a poker chip, moves off,
Bright moon shining between pines.
Excerpted from Oblivion Banjo: The Poetry of Charles Wright by Charles Wright. Published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux November 5th 2019. Copyright © 2019 by Charles Wright. All rights reserved.