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
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,
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 Processes, The 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.