You sift through hours
of tongues you find a ring
to echo and binding
an eye strewn on your wrist
is enough to reconcile the weight
of the catastrophe. If you counted
fingernails I would comb rotting
charcoal to pulse cinematic
shades within your stare.
The frostbitten imprints of a horse
fulfill the melancholy of a woven
heart. Let me spend this knowledge
make facsimiles from the affection
you extol in waves of mountains.
Winter is coming and my feet
react so tender. The coolness
saps down from the peaks
you are bleeding frozen rot.
If you were a surgeon
I would still wound the ground
with ashes cradle your doors
in golden waste. But I cannot trickle
thick propensity from the revenant
embers. Without your glaze
I am mulling hard. I truckle elegantly
quiver. Call me your perspicacious candle trap
months in your teeth. O cyclical
tormentor! Your weaves of angels
become my cadavered existence!
A native of Iowa City, Josh Fomon is an MFA candidate at the University of Montana and serves as Editor-in-Chief for CutBank. He has poems appearing or forthcoming in Caketrain, iO: A Journal of New American Poetry and Ilk. He contributes poetry book reviews for Read This Awesome Book.
Awesome poem — and that painting actually looks kind of like the author, if you squint!