Light Falls and Runs Red: The March of Faces Begins Quick-Step in the Margin of Thought

Here there is a light in every
window, a watchman by every bed,
fat men with pantyhose pulled over
their heads, apt to change only
their minds, watching nothing but wind
blow in against sleeveless bodies.

I see Jesus everywhere,
emaciated faces, long hair
strung out behind them, pricks of blood
in their hands, feet, thighs.
None of their crosses are true.
There is always a finger missing,
a thumb, a hand, an entire arm
left in an alleyway, in a field
halfway around the world, in the mouth
of some machine, some trembling lip
that kisses only to consume.

No one lifts a finger to save them.
Night after night this one walks
in his sleep, dances with his shadow,
spins into walls, stops, steps back,
stares, slowly begins to pound
the darkness his body throws off.

None of these hands can hold them.
Heavy with hope this one stands
on a bridge, his back to the wind.
He snaps his arms up and up,
again and again, dreams the wings
in his back open and closed, open
and closed, cups air beneath them,
pulls the sky’s ladder down,
pulls too soon everything
down on top of him.

Things are simple here.
Each night we close our eyes
to darkness coming over us
from everywhere at once.
This one has learned how small
a body can be, compressed,
compacted, disassembled,
left scattered over stream and woods,
preserved in jars at home.

Author of five collections of poetry, Scott Owens is editor of Wild Goose Poetry Review, author of “Musings” (a weekly column on poetry), founder of Poetry Hickory, Vice President of the Poetry Council of North Carolina, and a writer of reviews of contemporary poetry. His work has received awards from the Pushcart Prize Anthology, the Academy of American Poets, the NC Writers’ Network, the NC Poetry Society, and the Poetry Society of SC. Born in Greenwood, SC, he has lived in NC for the past twenty-five years and currently teaches at Catawba Valley Community College.