What of the wolfhound at full stride?
What of the woman in technical dress
and the amber eye that serves as a feral guide
to the snowy hive?
What of the singer robed in red
and frozen at mid-song
and the stone, its brokenness,
or the voice off-scene that says,
Note the dragonfly by the iris
but ask no questions of flight,
no questions of iridescence?
All of this
and the faint promise of a sleeve,
the shuttle's course, the weave.
What of these?
What of the century, did you see it pass?
What of the wolfhound at your back?
"Stone" and two other poems by Michael Palmer can be found in the print issue of Conjunctions:35, American Poetry: States of the Art