This poem is taken from PN Review 175, Volume 33 Number 5, May - June 2007.
Three PoemsThe High Dark
for Kevin Hart
Dark days, and when there
still was a mobile god
could it be that he
looked way down from a window seat
at all those yellow lights
perceiving them as souls?
Virtue must have been visible
in much the way that
casino fingers reveal
whoever holds the aces.
Dark days. When on
that marbled crust of troubles
our war-willing nations joust
this Boeing can enclose you,
buffet the news away.
Dark night. If you
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