by Thomas James
On my right is a field of darkness.
The ants are busy in the tall grass.
I float on a lake of dark petals.
Waves of flesh wash over me.
I am looking into watery sky
At the bottom of an ancient well.
The field is flooded with darkness.
I sleep in curls of dark grass
Edged by a cloud of wild asters.
A horse stands by a worm-eaten log.
It paws the dark with its right foreleg,
Cutting dark flowers in the air.
“Waking Up,” from LETTERS TO A STRANGER by Thomas James. Copyright © 2008 by Thomas James. Used by permission of Graywolf Press.