Gathered in my beard, on your skin, in the mouths of bottles. Drink down their speckled bodies--Mexican beetle, Asian beetle, domestic bodies--no one will say. On my sweater, this one, a jewel in a vestment, rises away. The several on my hands I'm flinging like orange paint from a brush-- these winged red oils, striated, enameled. The ends of my fingers a brush-- Pollock with ladybugs, Pollock with a canvas of sky.
David Wright's most recent collection of poems is A
Liturgy for Stones (Cascadia, 2003). His work
appears in The Nimble Spirit Review, Artful Dodge,
and Poetry East. He is a past recipient of an
Illinois Arts Council Fellowship for poetry. He stays home
with his children in Central Illinois, where his wife practices