Three Poems
Kindness in Endurance

The star was a costume and the lack of a star was a costume. 
Both increased danger. 

The unserved armies’ uniforms were costumes.
One mimicked danger and one defied it. 

The spreading silk was a costume so the sky would want her, 
the spreading flame a costume of the mind. 

The bruises were no costume; the smile, I don’t know. 
The blindfold was a costume refused 

seeing out of the instant, out of the series 
seeing out of the cloak of her identity 

out of the x and y into dimensions 
folded ever inward, ever out 

coiled, dense, the nucleus of the eye
radiant, unconsumed.

Restriction in Endurance

A burning called her, a star 

from the lip of sea, singing, 

and she went—over the sea, 

up to the star—formed a path,

long circle around a sphere, 

a star, a recursive growth 

budding with peaks and valleys, 

line approximating space, 

filling it, emptying it, 

burning expanding in place 

that was not there, that before 

was only calling, only 

calling her, a star, burning, 

segmented, continuous, 

loud and silent, distant, close.

Yielding in Endurance

The center holds her—there’s nowhere to go 
but round the yard again. She ties her shoe, 

stooping, and her mother comes; they walk. 
She bends to tie the other and the shadows 

of all she loved join them in her circuit: 
father as he was then, brother now 

come into the land she won’t return to, 
and some imagined one, not to be met 

within this form, pacing round its track 
but losing speed, falling back further 

behind the surge of matter, the endless waves, 
falling out of orbit, but not falling—

blazing—sparks spreading wide, stars 
everywhere, blurring the edge of space.

COURTNEY DRUZ is the author of three books of poetry: Complex Natural ProcessesThe Ritual Word, and The Light and the Light. She has worked in architecture and graphic design, and her poems have appeared in a variety of journals. She lives in Israel.
The Adirondack Review