Berryman, Against This Silence
       

...endlessly us undo
I have said what I have to say

against your silence-triumph

of the vanished on their uncanny errands
and up-lit, turned

and took a deep breath
                                        for you,

whereby we ripen
                                        to have it out
and pace on in peace,
if that's what you call it, kind suffering,
                                                    our last bride

in letters and margin-omissions, to the pen falling asleep
in the hand of a friend
                                        behind: me, wag. Here:

a bowl full of snow carried inside the house; one hundred
and fifty-five thousand black umbrellas opened and no rain;

the image of the dead on the fingernail

my head full of silkworm cocoons
thrown against the wall,

a strangeness in the final note.

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Copyright © 2021 Elena Karina Byrne All rights reserved
from Squander
Omnidawn
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission