Poetry from Richard Fox
You Followed the Moon on Its Wane or Wax
You followed the moon on its wane or wax;
stood on the wall of the canyon & waited
for your echo to come back.
When it did no such thing, you crawled
with such care along the ledge.
You tended the sheep while the dog
wandered, & weather formed above
your head & made itself dimensional.
It started with whatever befell the snow;
it started with whatever peopled you forward,
if peopleness was what was before you:
it started with a large body of water,
one that let out into the sea, where
sailors were called explorers, & the sea was
called the drink; where the kitchen
was called the galley, & food was called
the mess; where the helmsman guided
the boat & the astrolabe read the sky:
this was where you would have to be
in order to imagine the brink.
Richard Fox has contributed work to many literary journals. “Swagger & Remorse,” his first book of poetry, was published in December, 2007. He released “Hula,” a recording of spoken word, in 2014. He received a full fellowship for poetry from the Illinois Arts Council. He holds a BFA in Photography from Tyler School of Art, Philadelphia, and lives in Chicago.
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