They Will Sew the Blue Sail

he continually puts autumn in his writing | Rodney Koeneke

I continually put autumn

In my writing, discovering

How I prefer your lineaments

To any thing this rotting

World adores. Scholars tussle

Over standards, just elide

Them in the sentence

I call to you from pauses

On sobriety’s palanquin

I’m ready to climb down from

All that song saw fit to move in

Before your hum allotted

Spring’s abandon, winter’s

Measure, empty dishes

Scraped to wasting in a house

Of foreign sinks. Tell me now

Why I still come here

Preferring your appearance

To everything exciting

On a morning, digits

Stressed with message, pieces

Moved across a formal game.

Out of glare and noises

To make a wasteful palace

Lamps for burning up

The dying day, spent

On truant sovereigns

Slowly only breathing,

Breathing’s service

Ended serving you.