Abodement by Charles Wyatt


At whose birth the owl shrieked,
abodement of evil of
lost socks and leaves wilted,
fallen and corner-drifted,
wrapped in lucky cowl.

Whose then, and what is birth?
The wind that drives worm to rose
comes from yesterday,
does it not, and balances tomorrow
like a scratching branch.

The storm to come, seconds,
minnows, items of air
bring what we fear, our
thoughts deadheading
the rose bush all thorn and

no bark, coming now after
this deep inward breath,
eyes closed listening such
a small thought this one
saying the end is near enough.



Charles Wyatt‘s first full-length poetry collection, Goldberg-Variations, is forthcoming from Carolina Wren Press in 2015.