Blank Spaces
by Grant Loveys

ten tons of water crash in

and roll out

as the earth flexes its lungs

the deep contraction before

the next drawn breath

 

where sound has given way

to silence

reacted to its absence

as a momentary deafness

follows the gunshot clap

or a flinch is

birthed from the sting

to serve the seesaw balance

 

envy these blank spaces

on the page

staggerstep between

what’s printed

trip over the hooked

arm of an

f

 

to live among what’s written

and find what is yet to write

 

The Orchard

With one languid bat of an eyelash

or a slow easy smile

in the soft glow of candlelight

you could crack the sky

and call down a quick stroke of lightning

 

because your smile is branded

upon my heart

and my seared flesh tightens

with every thought

every picture

the very essence of you in my mind

 

you are a force

and I am a dead tree caught in

your whirlwind

I have been shaken bare

and no birds seek refuge in my tangles

 

but I cannot fault you

because you are birthed

from the monarchy of my soul

betrothed to many kings

and you have unwittingly cast me

into some dark dungeon

where your light burns low

 

your eyes are my stockade

I am chained to your body

and each strand of your hair

another sharp lash

 

My heart is a starving peasant

confined to your orchard

searching for the peach tree

in a world of oak

 

GRANT LOVEYS lives in St. John’s, Newfoundland, a small city on Canada’s eastern edge. His work has appeared in a dozen or so literary publications, and will appear in Breadcrumb Scabs, Oak Bend Review, and mudluscious in late 2009.

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