Iain Pollock

From “Of Marks & Lacks” (IV.)

IV.) amid[

   ]porch[

red, hardbound[                                           ]too young to decipher[                  

]rusted, strident[

]

]

         ]before this

spring[                ]nature’s indifference[             ]granite

                                                                     ]slab snow

intransigent in[                                ]descent. but today

            ]my insignificance is not distant

and sublime:[                                      ]prophesy warmer

days[                                                      ]surge[

radiant yellow[

         ]the few[                    ]burgeon[         ]pink and

]

       ]behind shut doors[                    ]bide their slow

quarantine, while down river,[

                                 ]a discordance[

                                rasping to[        ]hard-set[

From “Of Marks & Lacks” (X.)

]hoops and soap suds[

younger boy twirl fantastic summer[

weeks of illness[                                 ]the size of my torso

in knobby sphericals and distended tubulars. warped,

]memory given shape and

prismatic[                       ]floating, currents of breeze

                   ]toward the laurel and[

]property line, the neighbor’s

]dilapidating behind them. floating,

]surface tension—under pressure from trapped

                                                                ]—breaks.[

                                       ]the air holds a thin perimeter of

]form. ghost of an

apparition. but then, even this hint[

]knows gravity, into the grass and, below it, loam, falls

away.

John Poch