James Henry Knippen

NIGHT

Bare torchlight in the weathered rain.
Bare starlight in the gathered rain.
Bare lamplight on the road in rain.
Moonlight tethered to a tree.

Even the white tree buries myself.
Even the blackbird ferries myself.
Even the blue flame worries myself.
The green sea cradles me.

Life still clouds the moon above.
Life still wounds the clouds above.
Life may lose its meaning above.
Still life of dried azaleas.

Borrow the voice howling this beauty.
Borrow the lung inhaling this beauty.
Borrow the song impaling with beauty.
Moonlight tumbles like a scree.

Build my coffin only of words.
Build my coffin from words alone.
Build my coffin out of letters and space.
Tether it to a solitary cloud.

JAMES HENRY KNIPPEN is the author of Would We Still Be, winner of the 2020 New Issues Poetry Prize. His poems have appeared in 32 Poems, AGNI, Colorado Review, The Cincinnati Review, Crazyhorse, The Kenyon Review Online, The Missouri Review Online, and West Branch. He is the winner of a 92Y Discovery Prize and the poetry editor of Newfound.