Issue 5: Independent vs. Representative Voice
A Publication of the USF MFA in Writing Program

Edge and Fold XLI-XLVIII

Paul Hoover

               where is a written deer   
               running through a written forest
                           -Wislawa Symborska  
                  the written man in bed  
                                   with his unwritten wife  
                  she who has written  
                                   his figure in that place  
                  experience that lives  
                                   only in the written  
                  a dark brown mouse  
                                   crossing to the mirror  
                  vacant fishermen  
                                   staring into ponds  
                  as if to write them  
                                   naked with indifference  
                  what is fire writing  
                                   in the house of darkness  
                  all inner space imagined  
                                   nothing in shadow  
                  everything that is  
                                   written by what is not   
                  sweat and breath  
                                   the listing of parts  
                  the body of love  
                                   and heat beneath the skin  
                  the rigors of being  
                                   easy in your mind  
                  and in your body hard  
                                   the shape of light  
                  is everywhere at once  
                                   she speaks you into being  
                  draws you from her eyes  
                                   until the threshold enters  
                  and silence grows still  
                  rain is falling somewhere  
                                   in this dry world  
                  lightning with its cane  
                                   strides across the field  
                  sometimes thrusting   
                                   itself through the house  
                  the path of darkness   
                                   sweeps everywhere at once  
                  hesitant thunder  
                                   and a change in the air  
                  rain on the river  
                                   making it rush  
                  the ones I've offended  
                                   let me kiss your mouths  
                  as poets do endlessly  
                                   between the legs of wells  
                  love is a language  
                                   few of us can speak  
                  if it happens to die  
                                   the mourners are ready  
                  to plunder our grief  
                                   silence make moan  
                  life imitates art  
                                   when art is at its worst  
                  Christina Aguilera  
                                   and Andy Warhol  
                  grace a page together  
                                   & I must place my eye  
                  beneath the skirts of bells  
                                   nothing lasts forever  
                  except the works of nature  
                                   returning every spring  
                  a lovely winter wedding  
                                   for every mother's son  
                  in a world of afternoons  
                                   social observations  
                  mean almost nothing  
                                   Taylor loves John  
                  a mirror loves the sun  
                                   each time I dream  
                  it happens more slowly  
                                   until a fondness comes  
                  hollow of the mouth  
                                   velvet of the tongue  
                  the longest intermission  
                                   in the history of song  
                  likeness now begins and  
                                   difference shuts down  
                  how many words  
                                   must grace the poor child  
                  until she feels impassive  
                                   the semblance and the tangle  
                  are models of desire  
                                   little sleep machine  
                  on its way to language  
                                   flickering out of time  
                  jostled by the present  
                                   the future's intermittent  
                  whatever's unfulfilled  
                                   stands at the ready  
                  the way that gives way  
                                   is like a fossil now  
                  when things are unconcealed  
                                   our face to face encounters  
                  are closed to the closed  
                                   we stand among the open  
                  garrulous as they are  
                                   what is not missing  
                  and what was never there  
                                   nothing infinite lasts  
                  the cry of an owl  
                                   is its first world  
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