at neck, at
shoulder, that
stokes a man
as he grows
older. Nothing
rages, nothing
fumes. No one
races through
the rooms,
alarmed. How
casually he's
armed. How
gradually arises
what surprises
in his mirrors.
Unawares, as
fall runs colder,
pulls he only
slightly tighter
his good wool
sweater, thinner
than ever now
at elbow,
at shoulder.
Source: Poetry (July/August 2007).
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This poem originally appeared in the July/August 2007 issue of Poetry magazine
Poet Todd Boss grew up on a cattle farm in Wisconsin, and was educated at St. Olaf College and the University of Alaska Anchorage, where he received an MFA. Boss’s pared-down, idea-driven poems are propelled by internal rhyme and balance clarity with a nuanced attention to sound. “I think of poems as pieces of music, or a work of architecture,” he told the Utne Reader in 2009. “The poem is a space that you’re inviting someone . . .
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