from For the Fighting Spirit of the Walnut
In a decidedly vacant stone plaza, you are tapped on the shoulder by the convulsions of a section of light, and turn back, to your delight. However, to think that the countless hidden fibers of the atmosphere were already attacking you at once and tying you up, shadow and all. Inside the convulsive laughter, fight. Because the fighting spirit is that of the enemy, flooding over the plaza.
Source: Poetry (April 2008).
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This poem originally appeared in the April 2008 issue of Poetry magazine
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