Here by Soren Stockman


A spot of blood in my tea.

You on my weighted lip.

Fissure I can find, I can be.

Apart from any dragonfly,

apart from a sudden rain

is this, and more fragrant,

more. Incantation of my own.

I stir it in. You, and the bright,

bright moon. The dock floats.

A light burst lithe, like

stars imploding far

in quiet hours. More quiet

than deer sleeping, than grass

underneath them, is this,

and the glassy waves go

in motion and between.

Easy, now. Even here

is a long time away.




Soren Stockman’s poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in The Iowa Review, the PEN Poetry Series, Tin House Online, Plume, The Literary Review, Southword Journal, BOAAT, Horsethief, Bellevue Literary Review, The Paris-American, Columbia Journal, and Narrative, which awarded him First Place in the 2013 Narrative 30 Below Contest. The recipient of fellowships from New York University, the Ucross Foundation, the New York State Summer Writers Institute, and the Lacawac Artists’ Residency, he now works at the NYU Creative Writing Program and as Curator for Springhouse Journal.