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Jacket 19 — October 2002   |   # 19  Contents   |   Homepage   |  Catalog   |
This issue of Jacket is a collaboration with Verse magazine

Terence Huber



Keep this one article of clothing. Do.


Huddled close together in the make-shift clearing.
In ear-shot of an animal in whose eyes they nick the time.

Between two birds no moment elapses. The worm did not
writhe for rain, you understand. Among nicked silences.


There came sounds of the body. There came bodies too big
for the single desire in an ambiguous estate. The orchard is private

looking, is in the body’s name, and here, named birds, and here. Between
the birds nothing more to eat and dumb now doing what —

They knit something far off in the apples, in the cherries they
keep their lowest voices low again. Listen. Come —

Stare directly gold at me, show your mouth inside —
What was it they were discussing this close to a word?

That Nothing is fair: Then this one lays cut flowers.
This one pinches grass and waters then the cut stone. And

the world could be less cruel built out of these trees.
I watch from here. All these years

there lived distances from the spectacle, they seem to be whispering


however many times and I don’t taste a single sadness.

Jacket 19 — October 2002  Contents page
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