Storm, lustral
Andrew Zawacki


Blue as already the shoreline
is breaking, are you a
lakefront the question is
lacking, house with one
door with a corset of glass
its secret about
                         to pass out of
earshot, blurring its poker
face breaking its fall, apart
from white of which yellow
is part, sanding & sanding
the slivers the hook the
ask and it shall
                         open unto
cold blood & two
carat how are you
overcast how is your hinge
brokedown the half note
in laudanum light:
frost at
                         the window was
etched with such images
what if the dark does
not know to watch & what if
morning still biting its nails,
bent with etcetera bent with
until, breathe
                         a straight razor
notched like a tooth, to
break with the second the
third time around
a fretwork of shuteye at once
& awake, roomless for what I
wasted on the way

A carmine book, graphite red
book of rain will squall to blur
the first, the final page,
dusk at water’s edge undress
the edge, a tantrum of fog
                         what used to be you:
birds filibuster a poplar
& stay the conductivity
of night, in this landscape
sampling another samples
others, wind with nothing to
stop or
                         gear it down: not if
the half moon rig its pulley
roof to roof, sun make the
usual rounds, if let me have
my life it’s what I have, if most
be fair in love & war but we, we
were neveró
                         a piece of weak thread
& faraway thunder are work you
set your fever to, an oil
can, a threepenny nail, leaf
come in from the cold,
or this space I call,
for lack
                         of a better word,

Panning the river of where
he went for signs of where I
went, the gunmetal blue in
hemlock & water, rush grass
panic grass,
                         I can start
again can start again:
the moon is awaiting a
makeover, sun plays
satisfied with itself
& a speedboat
its destiny on the dark
for don’t know who,
do not know why the wasp
the pebble, purslane &
tree line, unable to
stay on the coast of a
concept a singular
thing that only happens
                         hail, rain, wave
upon wave, someone,
somebody else: & his
ragdoll figures of difference
with their foreign, faceless
god, that it runs,
                         runneth down,
rattles to & fro
before running out
as a woman, at the end
of a party, will up &
leave her
                         scarf & gloves
behind, the sky eliding
from damask to cobalt
varicose over the barn,
aluminum puddles
& zydeco light
                         around the
yard, open never open
enough in a winter at one
removeó oh look a
cloud that slipped its
drift & got
for good

Rainstorm oiling a rusted
track, orange the farther
the fiery end: nonplussed & no
nonsense up up from zero
revisiting zero, refusing
to fold when the dealer
                         to sever each
premise go back on one’s
will, consent to be riven
then breach one’s consent:
why feather why do you
ice & erosion, playing what’s
meant by a
                         color betrayed,
nothing from nothing not
triage or whisper, night it got
busted got put back to pieces
tale of the splinter &
wind burn it got, frayed by
an absence that
                         rendered it seen
as sunlight can fissure
the arc of an echo lured from
its ashes the violet
lam?, shadowless wave &
nerve pointing nowhere, filthy
& fucked up & bent
                         beyond fixing
even insomnia sawed off &
gray or tinted in gaillac or
black Sunday best: bulletproof
heart will you walk a ways
backward empty of
                         other than snow

Anorexic & off-kilter, a snowflake
done brought the mountain
down: reckons well what voice
will latch, beckoning
the dark, fathoms how a
halo catches fire,
                         alike knows why
from now until never
if one be unslept to oneself
a kiss come wreck
this body & rearrange
our limbs: winter not
relaxed nor cut
                         the haywire of
its blear, but dragging
gaunt calligraphy over
the blue, sharded glass
of being there, gone & left
a fraught, laconic poise
for none did see:
of sunlight marry the floor

Surrounded by pinyon
& parasol pine, dog rose &
flowering plum & so far
ahead of ourselves I
                         no longer see us
where last we were seen
looking into one-way glass
unsure which side is clear:
mirror that sharps
                         if interrupted
mirror refuse to shatter
by the deadpan, ambient chord
of being alive with you
& almost alone:
                         why everything hangs
in the balance
even the balance

Although it is neither your
language nor mine, not
in the eyebright & not in
your name, no matter if
driftwood if pollen or cirrus
hauling their muted shadows
vex the dune: although every
written must
                         other its author,
a daybreak sonata, horizon
chateau, the private archives
of lakewind & loss, a claret tide
that’s closer to me than my
self: although wet japonica
as if by default, melissa or
ambergris, coltsfoot or burr
                         a single stroke of
sun: give & forgive us
our tagalonglight
our fjords of crashing
through thaws of ourselves,
anglesea & veer from an arsenic
sky, like a child who guards
a sand castle against
the afternoon,
                         tapping a wrinkle
of salt water,
telling the ocean to stop

Believe the weather will
strain its back for
someone no longer & never
was there, for things that tremor
& things that hide &
things that lavish
                         their future in
a flood: pastis green
of bowstring pine & indigo
trimming the veins, a bridge
that flexes like scissors below
& current that wavers
unbended untorn,
                         in nil-nil time
turn without turn, don’t let it
break let it rest let
it break, red that unfreezes
a riot of red, may all my
arrows be written down in you

By shot light & shadows of,
overhear a took-off man
nearing the fence, the folds of,
hop across its
                                 talcum code
& piston the ditchwater of:
river level at curtain glass
junk awash on the bank
he swims ahead of an
stands for himself
if he had one, as a life that
partway happened leans
testing each
                                 movement of
& clouds collapse in seigniories
gone mint, medoc, cassis:
& not the forest
unseen for the trees
                                 but I can’t
see any trees, flying the
gravel or gravity of,
organon & the opera
of, deluge will cover
                                 his twilight
track his get the hell
out of here of: recycling
what murmurs volt after
volt, goodbye
                                 it’s okay
goodbye, white flame
in a white fog
in a windflower
coming to meet us