Mark McMorris

Fleecy clouds veiled the stars
Fingering the rifle                                                   p. 33
And finally the steady trot of horses
Truth is such an abstract word.

Sleep glued his eyelids tight
Without a word, with silent insistence                   p. 33
Yet transmitted a wan glow
Truth is such an abstract word.

Emerge from the house in rue Visconti
The first step to freedom and happiness              p. 182
Lurking in the faces of shop-girls
Truth is such an abstract word.

Imagine that Colombe was dead
So beautiful, brushed in, as it were                       p. 182
The gates at this hour
Truth is such an abstract word.

No man can save a corpse
Mirth like water under a stiff breeze                      p. 177
Failing to acknowledge his paternity
Truth is such an abstract word.

She felt “positively drunk”
There was a sudden blare of music                       p. 177
Own way back to a state of grace
Truth is such an abstract word.

Things that I can see from here
The Capitol dome with flag                                      me
Blue recycle trash bin
Ethelbert taking pictures of TRUTH.

A god will come with grace and lift you up
Poetry is the event someone said                           a stranger at the installation
Able to sit with your pain
Truth is such an abstract word.

–Lines taken from The Weakling and the Enemy, page numbers given.Thanks to Leslie for the book.