David Gruber

I hadn't the patience
to learn what lay unlearned
though when the mud
I knew how to shoot.

Autumn ate our feet up to the ankle
stripped away
what closed out cold
-- a cough, unsilence.

Marvelous spectacle and its annotators:
once a whisper in my ear
once a finger on my lip.

Get your gun
quiet this whimpspering.

Night before snowfall,
counterpoint ice scrapings
gnash at cloud

too much said,
the flush
spoken upon spoken --

this alarum
snapping, four feet stopped,

no sight, no noise.