This poem is taken from Stand 220, 16(4) November - December 2018.

Jeffrey Wainwright Three Poems

Even up here we cannot think we see it all.
Trees, grass, haze, vines, a bird
hastening horizontally across,
and so many creatures and human things holed up:
a badger that will be abroad tonight,
a stone fountain dried out and overgrown.

I could begin again with other instances:
the nearly-yellow track angled against the wood,
a snail clutching the iron footing of a post,
unrippled water on the lake,
a stationary boat in silhouette,
closer by, some friendly human murmuring.

Yet we keep the will to understand it all.
We watch the wireworm and the humming-moth
as best we can; study the undersoil;
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