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.
Deep, approach profound as a poem