Seth Howard


THE QUOTIDIAN SUNLIGHT

Life floats a moment, dark.
How we are held, the stirr-
ings of a kiss in afternoons.
How will you repay me if
I give myself to you? Ghost

in the night that hums. An
interim the color of a cat’s
tongue. Patience was your
strength, grey lichen stiff
on the bough thickens, but

I remain here aloof. I keep
moving, a constant blur in
the air, & somewhere I am
fire (as the kōans say) ice
of which I do not transcribe

but hold a mantra in my
heart. The purple filam-
ent of a sunset etched in
the sky, & your pale face
that rests on my chest. I

come home a new man
the ceiling swirls before me
deep drones. Your grey
cat, her bright eyes that
take in the evening’s mo-

tion. You make me want
to reinvent myself in
stairwells that siphon, &
the dominatrix moon is
still a moment, winks at

me in the night. My life
a bundle of smoldering
sticks, the ice light falls
slightly off kilter as your
kiss presses my dream.



DEEP CONCENTRATION

A quiet hum in the distance.
We all pushed into a corner
of the train. Hours in which
you dream. Greenish pulse

sun submerged. & I wake to
light soft as memory. Birds
float from the window left
ajar. White light of a mystic as he makes

his way into the desert. Plum
& the Italian aesthetic. You
made me want to live, find
the potential in my ecstasies

these cages of boredom, &
freedoms of joy. The earth
is where I left it. By the box
a sun resurfaces, the moon

is majestic when our hope is strong.
Night phantoms & our lives
in the city. I wake to light
memory before an autumn

dream, you came with crisp
leaves on your pink sweater.
Night vacant, a faint far-off
signal that calls. This is where you

pose a question, in the hall
as the waters surge. Always
an inquiry that remains
in a spell spoken or held on

the tongue. You wished to
prove to me I had a chance.
In the cities, I felt that was
true & I thanked you for it.

POEM WRITTEN IN LATE MORNING

Dive into waters that womb you in light & the sun will close its doors. The slow remembrances of one who sits patient in a cell. The seasons. I wake in the silent morning, skies grey hover in the window that is gone. I slip through the white petals & beyond the wall a slight suction. Dream of prisms & the night that takes us in. Of silent streams that bring us back. Wonder & inflection. There on the high branches, a persimmon hangs. The evening swallows us in an instant.



THE TRIALS WE FACE

Fireflies on an autumn night. The way the water flows into the locus of unknowing. I sit still & wait a moment in the rains. Dry hours inside the poem. The wind rattles the windows. For the time being I am rooted in being & time. Night emerges an olive from the waters & my sister returns from the mid-west. Dream of sequences. Silences long, & without being detected I exit the room. Tiles float in the air, & somewhere in the distance the sun’s eye drips. I leave for the provinces on a Sunday afternoon. The air is cool in the hills & wind caresses my oblivion.



SWIM ALONG THE FRINGE

Clouds fringe the corners of the mind, this Friday when hungry seagulls gather on the esplanade. Winds brisk & afternoons of cloudy apple cider. This October when unsteady ghouls roam the night in despondency. I wake to the sound of birds brimming from a glass. These night circuses. Secret misdirection in the hall of sand. I sip a sequence of yesterdays that fall from my head. Blue phantom. Sun the color of a pill you swallow each day, a prayer for Jesus to come down from his astral chair. Silences swim. In cool air you breathe in the cosmos.



SHE HOPED FOR PROGRESS

This afternoon, the light slants at a precarious angle. The sun wakes & its sleepy eye is nirvana. Icy leaf, the restless hours. People file out of the church, a few girls in heels. Was it a waking light cast its shadow on the steps? I reel under the stress of it, feel the ease of the thick sails catching in those spectrums that promise a marvelous day. I wake to showers & the light is grey in pools that ripple under her touch. Sleepless in the hall. Was it a dream or a nightmare? It was a whim she said had led her to the river. By her presence the geese return home.

RAIN AT THE AIRPORT

Silence in my apartment
sealed in this space that

wakes me. I stood firm
in the rains, the serene

signals, & the trail of her
eye. Listless in the morn-

ing I sip my hot coffee.
We wanted only some

peace of mind. Quiet stillness
& the beginnings of a

change. The blue angel
falls from the ceiling, &

the orange devil wakes
from his sleep. I reflect

motionless. For a moment
all is well. The rain is

almost invisible at the
airport. Searching for

a sign. The love I felt
for her, in the interim

sleep. I leave my old
self behind. A ring in

the air, & an immeasurable
patience. I watch

faint moths of light
flake away, & wait

at a terminal, kept
within the stillness.




Seth Howard is the author of two chapbooks: Out of the East, & Waters from a Well. His work has appeared in Otoliths, BlazeVOX [books], unarmed journal, Big Hammer, Oddball Magazine, Chronogram, Saudade, Elephant, & elsewhere. He hosted the Poetry Open Mic at the Washington Street Coffee House for a year, where he shared much of his own work, & has done several featured readings in local bookstores. He graduated from the University of Connecticut, & studied abroad at Sophia University in Tokyo for three years. In his spare time, he enjoys the practice of Zazen, watches K-drama, & co-edits CAPSULE Magazine. He currently resides in New London.
 
 
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