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Epithalamium with Rust

I remember the dream of rust on its own vague terms:
dredging the canal as though it were oneself,
hoping for trinkets that fix life to a landscape of flowers and trash,
and settling for bothering the levee with a stick,
notching my time card in the holy city.

In the margins of sky and dust­­­­­––distance specific to the dream of distance––
the thought of water comes on like vanity.  It is error,
as are the certainties of children, to make much of the dumb bend of sun
on copper, to heed what God writes in the sand with his pretty little feet.

Crows flood from the factory shell and out over trump ground,
into the easy marriage of actuality and nothingness that is the long patina
of days, drunk on lawn seed and disquiet.
I remember it again, but differently.  Archipelagos of debris and glow,
stars fashioning what light benefits the dead…

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Brandon Kreitler‘s poems have appeared in Boston Review, DIAGRAM, Web Conjunctions, Indiana Review, Eoagh, Sonora Review, and Maggy.  His criticism has appeared in The Brooklyn Rail, Proximity, and Village Voice among others.  He was a winner of the 2010 Discovery / “Boston Review” award and a finalist for the 2010 Ruth Lilly Fellowship.  A native of Arizona, he teaches at Queensborough Community College and is working on a manuscript of poems.

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Adam Fitzgerald holds an M.F.A. from Columbia University. His poems have appeared in Chortle Bread, Contemporary Phallacies, Slave Grime and Igloo Dust. Rumors have it that he edits Maggy. His manuscript was recently rejected from The Alaskan Retirement Home Quarterly Press. He is presently at work on no collaborations. He lives with his wife and two children in the East Village.

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  • Adam January 27, 2011, 5:45 pm

    Isn’t it beaut-i-ful?

  • Peggypenny February 17, 2012, 3:43 pm

    huh.  i didn’t get all your words to describe landscape,
    i’m too busy looking for words to describe love.  Peggy Penny

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