Wednesday, April 13, 2011

a poem by david groff


To folk before the rood
it colored the air like the glass,
echoed beyond belief.
The certifiers of God

pronounced it the sound of the soul
slipping the traces of plow,
promising great beyondness,
beyond the sheep on the close.

The purified mouths of men,
their tone absent of organ,
the doubt of vibrato forgotten
like sketches of perspective,

exhort the stricken me
here in this beachside condo
that I am offered God,
as naked before the window

I wrestle my angel of Clay,
their CD’d voices bleeding
their sated, unstained avowal—
to hell with my ocean howl.

"Chant" originally appeared in Barrow Street

David Groff’s Theory of Devolution was selected by Mark Doty for the National Poetry Series. With Philip CLark, he has edited the anthology Persistent Voices: Poetry by Writers Lost to AIDS.

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