On rain washed paper dried, ink

By Marianne Boruch b. 1950 Marianne Boruch
On rain washed paper dried, ink
still blurs. But all words
are stains. The paper’s rippled
lunar, mountain and crater,

and seas on the moon, misnomer
of plains that looked like
water once, no-end-to-it shadows,
fractal to fractal. The telescope’s eye

fooled the eye. From there, does
earth rise and set? Or a thrush,
would it sing its trouble backward?—
the most private tremor first, then

the public part, famously
melodic but fierce, really it’s
fierce: stay   the fuck   away. I know
that lie, Sea of Tranquility.

Source: Poetry (October 2009).

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This poem originally appeared in the October 2009 issue of Poetry magazine

October 2009
 Marianne  Boruch

Biography

Poet and essayist Marianne Boruch grew up in Chicago. She is the author of seven collections of poetry, including, most recently, The Book of Hours (2011); Grace, Fallen from (2008); and Poems: New & Selected (2004). Her memoir, The Glimpse Traveler (2011), concerns a hitchhiking trip she took in 1971. In the Blue Pharmacy (2005) and Poetry’s Old Air (1995) are collections of her prose on poetry. In an interview with Brooke . . .

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Poem Categorization

SUBJECT Nature, Stars, Planets, Heavens, Poetry & Poets

POET’S REGION U.S., Midwestern

Poetic Terms Free Verse

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