Poetry from Richard Fox

Photo by Gianni Zanato

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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