Evening Will Come: A Monthly Journal of Poetics (Besmilr Brigham—Issue 49, January 2015)


beauty is

what the man

alive and breathing,

sees as

feels as, knows

goes into him

as beauty

beauty is

a forked lightning

that gives light

and burns

beauty is


the fire

that gives warmth

that makes flesh warm,


one of the beginning earth-


a star

that is like a rock

burned and made whole in heat;

all turned into a thing

until it has nothing to feel with,


turned to stone that

yet burns

beauty is

the word

‘niger’ and ‘gringo’


the way any man

bends the same way

to pick up a sack of beans

and carry the load six miles

over the mountains to where

he grows no beans

beauty is

a drink of water

when you’re thirsty

and it is

being poor

or lonely, or hungry, or without

—for nobody knows what it is

till then

real hard,

just the way

the cracked lightning

and the star