Ars Poetica
I’ve written love notes all my life—
the letter I dropped from the window, stained and yellow;
the one curled into the begger’s cup.
The empire fell around me
like snow, so the citizens cringed in the streets,
their laces untied—blank-faced and strange.
I’ve written love notes and I do not know
to whom. In all directions, creased between bricks
or dropped from my fingers into gutters
so someone might find them and smile. Useless notes,
empty and vaguely
sad. I did nothing to help
while the empire limped into the park like a wounded car,
but composed while the crying shuddered
to a close and the buses stalled in the alleys.
Once, a group of hungry girls knotted on the street corner
called my name. Their hair was white
with snow, their lashes wet.
Love notes leaked from my hand as I walked past.
I have always been a gorgeous mind, light-in-the-eye
and dreaming. Always a work of art, a perfection
of limbs and hair, an arc in the marble
of my writing arm. Down and down my letters fell
while the empire closed.
—Kevin Prufer
____
from National Anthem, forthcoming from Four Way Books, 2008