« Katie Condon | Contents | Meredith Blankinship »

Alexander Booth



There is a numbness

Numbing nothing     


In the lightless swallowed

Whole     one long winter, one

Word: I want


Like mad the heart hurt



Days’ blue work of silence


A flicker, fear, then fail


Assaulting all & seized by every



Bone-dry plateau, haunted call





What hopes were

   Had to 

Hear what whispered


Flight furthered by which fall


Long evening lasts

In the birds’ blue throats echo

Back: all grieve



Natura morta


Grief’s winter-like gnaw

Was numb, a knuckle

& beauty in shards


Fra Angelicoed at your feet

You saw: a frost white line

Bronchiole to hill, to

Time; you heard: the days


In wind, at the edge

The ashen word

Reignite the world    gold    addio




Black hole tarantella


A Mediterranean timor mortis

   Maybe? Trying to

Bring back what’s past, another


     What’s about to pass

Days all too quick, the late year’s dark

     Pastels, the dove’s

Top-heavy bob & the dry

                        tangled whorls

Of wisteria, dull palms   

But inside

After the wine, the books, fire out & ash


              Every night up from out of

The cracks it comes calling, as the ghosts do

No easy tune, strings taut, then the spinning

Dreams distancing    faster, then faster still





These poems to a great degree are mourning songs & were conceived, as are all of my poems, with a certain idea of miniatures in mind; that is: inside and outside combined & a broken frame. In addition, together with a certain palette of certain landscape, these particular poems follow a certain thread which could be named: the little light that escaped (& its still small voice).


« Katie Condon | Contents | Meredith Blankinship »