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Famous Reporter # 33
 

 

 
HENRY SHEERWATER
 
    At new moon
 
i am stilled by doubt
          not idling like the machine at traffic lights
                    waiting on compulsion
          nor held taut with urgent messages
                    like the power lines
          and not anxiously shouting, No!
                    like that high brick wall.
 
i look out through glass
          across the street
                    to stiffly swinging insects levering clay
                    onto the back of a centipede
                    tended by distant bipedal scurryings,
          and i am still.
 
i am
          the brown crisp of unbelief
                    curling in a gutter,
          the dusky orange ephemera
                    on high grey cloud,
          the slim horns of silvery dilemma
                    lagging behind a late sun
                    and suspended in a puddle.

 

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