Back to contents
Number 9: Winter 2013

Five Poems

Kate Behrens

 

Saints on a Rood Screen Dado

 

You lie in an East wind

spinning off empty barley fields

in new pink saxifrage collar.

 

They can’t provoke some absences,

and where a master-stroke began

ends in precarious lines

 

(four are almost entire

some half there

some in a kind of limbo) –

 

I guess, through criss-crossed light

your bones are just that,

a life’s long pentimento

 

before your mouth enunciates

adjusting to casual quiet,

my near-future’s insidious whisper.

 

It’s like devotions real purpose

makes me a listening absentee,

there’s nothing but desirous colour

 

saying ‘Ambrose’, ‘Augustine’

‘Gregory’, ‘Jerome’,

or not ‘there’, but ‘everywhere’.