Erin Wilson’s most recent poe to appear here was “god stalks, as if you were hunted” (June 2017).

Textus of a Soul
(after Zbigniew Herbert)
By Erin Wilson

Sitting so still
in the lamplight
I dare not disturb him.

I enjoy this slowing
of the clock
so that I might know him,
see him,

take him,
poet lover,
into myself
as a single image.

No muscle.
But I’d wager
that inside
he’s barrelling infinitudes.

What is it
that rests
on the table
of his soul?

He has risen toward me,
a man breast-stroking ocean.
At times a warrior,
a scrounger.

At others
he’s borne me, monk,
as delicately
as a leaf might bear
a droplet of water.

So still. Lips barely parted.
And yet that mind!
I peek inside
through the lung’s breath.

On the table of his soul
is another book
laid open.

Inside that book:
instructions
to unravel
the original text.