Evening Will Come: A Monthly Journal of Poetics (Tribute to Tomaž Šalamun—Issue 50, February 2015)

Bradley Harrison
Transformed Horses

Dizzy with distance and soft in my hands

Tomaž fell again in the garden.

He came too late to tell me love sometimes fades

like a room without lamps. I wish for no more wishes,

I said,

this fence is fucking pointless.

What is it like where you are not sleeping?

Here it is so dark. It is so dark here without your glasses, and

I suppose

everywhere will be eventually.

You were my church and my spaceship

on an Austin lawn, where the White Witch extended her

incantatory wrists and

the three of us

were thirty of us drinking champagne and chanting

convinced we were somehow a bit more

than we were, a church and a spaceship

where the Lord is that goddamned moon

carving shadows in caves, brains

of skated-on lake in the lightning

of mind I see you galloping always

the Great Wall of China.