The Names and Other Music
A blue light is touching everything tonight,
the peach tree split by two fox squirrels,
speaking a language as old as dark.
They are life’s idea of a mirroring stage.
The apple blossoms getting bossy now
want attention, their maxim being: treat
me as you would any sudden pleasure.
Rapacious, they are barking like dogs
in a river, and the old rocking chairs set
to a pattern that imitates certain fixed stars,
always shifting and shuffling the cause.
The watershed, mossy in that cold light,
silvers behind the sculpture of a butterfly,
and the window onto which I’ve licked
the resin and pinned everything to.
In the immaculate parable of the fox
squirrels mating. It is that season,
that excess of unwieldy performances.
ALEX BERNSTEIN is an associate fiction editor at Flock and a recent graduate of Columbia University's MFA program. His poems have appeared in The New England Review and The West 4th Street Review.