One chair remained, there in front
at the Newberry. He told
the rapt room poetry came
as a conveyance of grief,

its most exquisite carriage,
vowel sounds. I tested: dull
pain of short a, Uhhh;
the keening of long e;

the chill and slow oh-no-oh-no
and knew, and truly knew when
he pronounced the consonants
managers of grief, the sharp

hastening to confine loss
to crypts, caging sadness in vaults.
Somehow it was clear animals
would lead him, descendant of wolf,

to know he has believed too much
in words*, that his dogs would take him
to mountains higher than time*.
After, assigned to the consonant

role of bodyguard so the long snake
of visitors, out the door down stairs,
would not weary him, I stood nearby,
suited presence saying without words

move along. When his escort said
for the fifteenth time, Mr. Merwin,
his voice as soft as thighs, wistful
as smoke, please call me William.

I drove them to the reception, later
to the hotel, conversing with him,
the blue madrigal of his eyes
offering what words always fail.

I lay alone, awake, the bushes
outside in the night rustling
like gossip, what a lovely place
to be in the mouth of yearning.
 
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*fifth stanza phrases are from "Fly" and "Dogs" by W. S. Merwin
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Charles Reynard is a trial court Judge in Central Illinois. His poems appeared in the anthology Illinois Poets: Where We Live and the literary journal, After Hours. A 2003 finalist for the Gwendolyn Brooks award and 2004 semi-finalist for the Dickinson award (Universities West Press), he co-edited (with Judith Valente) Twenty Poems to Nourish Your Soul (Loyola Press, 2005).
E-mail: judge.reynard at mcleancountyil dot gov
More information on Charles Reynard’s new book
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