by Peter Grandbois
There is only this hollow
tree shaped from fear
this night without end
where I meet you in a dream
the way this caterpillar
crosses my path, again
This ravening woods
that waxes and wanes
like the history of a feigned
sorrow we continue to sing
Blood is sometimes
the only thing we carry
Beyond the leaf’s language
rumors of touch
Beyond the singed light
murmurs of hands
Shaping silence into the vein-dark
blue of butterfly wings opening
and opening
Peter Grandbois is the author of eleven books, the most recent of which is the poetry collection The Three-Legged World, published as Triptych with books by James McCorkle and Robert Miltner (Etruscan 2020). His work has appeared in over one hundred journals, including The Kenyon Review, The Gettysburg Review, and Prairie Schooner. His plays have been performed in St. Louis, Columbus, Los Angeles, and New York. He is poetry editor at Boulevard magazine and teaches at Denison University in Ohio. You can find him at www.petergrandbois.com.
Hawaii Pacific Review 