Evening Will Come: A Monthly Journal of Poetics (Tribute to Tomaž Šalamun—Issue 50, February 2015)

Devon Wootten
[i! went looking for it.]

i! went looking for it.

a low row of stars, the eyes unshrank.

You were a saved man.

I speculate upon your future.

I lay on my back recovering. so the future,

with no voice of its own, or hope

of ever becoming more than it will be, might mourn.

g…rief, these noctilucent clouds

and the vast desolation. hollowing out the sea.

And, beyond the cove, the channel bells.

how we are enlarged by what estranges.

upon the face of the waters.

local objects and false weather

out of the inborn, as though I had asked for them,

as though I had been there.