First, a fence, then a gate.
Alone in the morning’s bright imprecision,
you know when you find the cave of the woman.
Last night, Lawrence had murmured long clauses
that lined up in your head
when you should have been sleeping.
The intimate alphabet, invaluable
hours, infinite regress of endings kept
blurring your vision. Even after the clock
molded minutes thick into hours, you twisted
and meandered through fragments.
The pages coated with dew. Now, flint light.
Small splinters of wind. The cave is wet
in odd places: ledges, silver cavities of rock.
Many long drips of water — not together, not fast —
leave a white line in nooks.
You are alert to the upright pine against glittering aspen.
Still alert to the sentence.
Someone would die here without anyone saying
a word. The sky lays down blue, with gray in its center,
and fingered with madness. Overhead,
the same sun, no longer tender.
You have never before climbed into a paragraph,
or a conclusion. Leaving the site, you read
summer’s flat light on the road.
The sun is unpunctuated, but reveals its opinions.
Lauren Camp is the author of two books, most recently The Dailiness, winner of the National Federation of Presswomen 2014 Poetry Book Prize and a World Literature Today “Editor’s Pick.” Her third book, One Hundred Hungers, was selected by David Wojahn for the Dorset Prize (Tupelo Press, 2016). She produces and hosts “Audio Saucepan,” a global music/poetry program on Santa Fe Public Radio. www.laurencamp.com.