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Toby Fitch
A soft October morning,
adagio sostenuto. Some part
of me is still delayed
in sleep. It is one with
night, with daylight
stars, moths that fumble
at a window pane, bewildered
that this tract of sky,
like no other, will not yield.
The coffee cup, double espresso,
is deeper than it looks.
Each sip I take
a dark reaffirmation. ...
after Horace, Odes I, v
What slim-hipped beachboy dripping
with musk is riding you
now on a bed of roses
in your snug den, Pyrra? Is it
for him you have braided
those honey-gold locks
in a knot so neat, so
homely? One day
soon, black moods, black
looks, he'll be cursing
you and the fickle
gods who have ...
Sweet nothings in our ear
cherub pumpkin dearest chuck
but to the heart which is the better
listener the password
to a tongue that only two in their comings
and goings have access to
A blessed mouthfu ...
I was woken at some hour
of darkness before dawn by a scent so heavy
on my senses, on the room, that I was convinced
a burglar had broken in
and was loitering
upstairs or in the hallway, or having caught
my step on the stairs above him was lying low
in the laundry, or sitting
upright and unbreathing
in one of the Windsor chairs, unaware it w ...
The storm blows you back
its funnel ardent
its wide hungry eye
Its tongue croons you
onto flatline of prairie
When poppies drowsed you
red breath drew
gravity into your limbs:
you yearned for tall ...
The dawn is only a thought.
The fulcrum on which we rest our newsprint, our toothless fingerprints, our balmy Paxil days.
Only a thought of the windy, dwindling kind.
Wake to urgent messages, to the waltz of hours crisp and fragile as thin pastry. To roulette of lightning yes. Of arid no.
&nb ...
The ‘greate fyshe’, terrible
colossus, dark cathedral of days
and nights, arrests
lost Jonah in his flight. Three
days and nights spent
in wet earnest pray ...
Cut out a sixth of the heart.
At a day old—furless,
close-eyed, resembling nothing
so much as an infant's thumb—
he can survive it.
The mouse can regrow that missing part
in three short weeks.
Aesop knew it:
to be mouse-hearted
is as good as wearing
the swagger of lion.
His heart
perhaps the size of ...