"Terzanelle in Thunderweather
This is the moment when shadows gather
under the elms, the cornices and eaves.
This is the center of thunderweather.
The birds are quiet among these white leaves
where wind stutters, starts, then moves steadily
under the elms, the cornices, and eaves--
these are our voices speaking guardedly
about the sky, of the sheets of lightning
where wind stutters, starts, then moves steadily
into our lungs, across our lips, tightening
our throats. Our eyes are speaking in the dark
about the sky, of the sheets of lightening
that illuminate moments. In the stark
shades we inhibit, there are no words for
our throats. Our eyes are speaking in the dark
of things we cannot say, cannot ignore.
This is the moment when shadows gather,
shades we inhibit. There are no words, for
this is the center of thunderweather."
--Lewis Turco
"a terzanelle for Turco"
a form's a little island that i make
against the rending tides of Time
& botfly buzzings' mock
an order, childish half, & half quite stern
rite to tame the raging Id
against the rending tides of Time
for laziness an aid
& filling up a pallid squirrelly page
rite to tame the tides of Time
though sometimes flubbed a smidge
i still churn out these gawky handmade hymns
& filling up a pallid squirrelly page
the setting sun of Lazarus limns
it's kind of a futile thing
i still churn out these gawky handmade hymns
since someone's got to sing
a form's a little island that i make
it's kind of a futile thing
& botfly buzzing's mock
