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To the Angelbeast

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For Arthur Russell

All that glitters isn’t music.

Once, hidden in tall grass,
I tossed fistfuls of dirt into the air:
doe after doe of leaping.

You said it was nothing
but a trick of the light. Gold
curves. Gold scarves.

Am I not your animal?

You’d wait in the orchard for hours
to watch a deer
break from the shadows.

You said it was like lifting a cello
out of its black case.


Source: Poetry (December 2011)

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This poem originally appeared in the December 2011 issue of Poetry magazine

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To the Angelbeast

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