Lull

Tracing a Thirst

for Ed  Foster

called it: tracing a

thirst, the poem

as it

sluices a

passage; with each,

dry

utterance, edges

towards its

own

ob-

fuscated source.  no,

not the

world, the

world's, but,

per-

haps, its 

very

postulate.  what the

winds

would lap and the

tongue,

ultimately,

muscle: breath, like

so

many

empty bubbles, brought

to

that pleated lip.

by Gustaf Sobin

Snow delay here. Quiet is falling outside, big clumps of it. How long can it last.

Sobin is a poet I'd not heard of until an acquaintance recommended his work. His book, By the Bias of Sound: Selected Poems, wasn't easy to find. I had to search out the Small Press Distributors folks. He lives in France, according to the book.   I'm reading on.  Here's a short bit from a longish poem.

Sudden Essays on Shadows and Substance

      if the shadow points

it's because the    shadow's drawn;   drawn  I

        call it 'you,'  'yours,'

when it's never yours         but

the glint you make      that pulls the shadow through...