There is a simplicity in Chris Leibow’s poetry, particularly upon hearing his mesmerizing recitations, yet this simplicity is betrayed by complexity of the arrangement of the words on the page, beckoning the reader to step within them, to get lost in the rush of the simplicity, and then eventually drown.
Brian Gray Enormous Rooms
The Poems I write you
are in the amber color of sap —
oozing from our
carved initials,
laying on top
of each other. a talisman –
that expands
each year
marked; the white sycamore
at the bend of the river.
The River.
The river
is insistent
and yet
our conversations
are modest,
are constantly
moving
she is always
repeating
herself never
repeats herself
repeats herself
in the damp blue
dusk of rustling
leaves.
in the sky
circling,
with herons
Down River
at the rivers
edge
river mud
running
through
my fingers
watch it fall
back into
the water
small brown
rivulets
moving fast
away from me
down river
a stag
leaps
across
While you
sleep
I send you
small birds
to weave
words
into your
hair
but the river
holds me
back -
instead she
weaves herself
Did you wonder
why on waking
the damp
pillowcase?
When
the river
rises
I send
my
armada
of paper
boats
to you –
have you
looked
in
the trees
my navy
beached
on
branches?
A sudden
breeze
will
bring
me
to you.
(to be continued)
a gust of wind will bring me to you
The sun
falls
past leaves
onto
words that
float in
and out
of currents
I try
to read them
as they pass
but the ravens
have
their nests
to build.
She weave red thread into river water
She
weaves
red
thread
into
river-water
the dusk
around her
rests on rivulets,
alights on
gold
leaf
spin
casts
small shadows.
across
bare skin
She
Now sings
rocks
a lullaby
rocks
the river
On the
shore
a paper
boat
on a
bedside table
the bed
the child
his eyes
get
heavy
and
heavier.
stars sing
in tree tops
silvering
leaves
I follow
the floating
faint glow of
lamp light in
and out
of trees
on the other
shore
The greening
river sings
sings
a lullaby
tries to sing
me to sleep
the river tries to sing me to sleep
the river crested
last night
drowning our
garden-
Even from envy
a deep silt
offering for
next spring.
Maybe
one
more
spring
My
conver-
sations
with
her
are
constantly
changing,
she is
always changing her-
self, she is
always
the same
always
changing
Rain
falls from
leaves -
Small circles
quiver
on the water
leaves shake
in
the
reflection
shake
off
their green
move
to-
ward
gold
she is always changiing herself - she always the same
this
morning
the light
changed
around
a small
child’s
wagon-
around
the first
birch leaf to
finally
let go of all
that green-
exhausted
by its
own
exuberance.
Did you notice?
sometimes
it’s so loud
I walk
away
from the river
walk into
the forest
through dusty
cathedrals
of light
to pray
to return
to return always
A winter for
the spring
that never came?
I’m singing
alone
in the kitchen
the river that lives
between us
sings with me
We’ve become closer,
but she doesn’t know
everything
Did you find
the bundled
sticks and river
stones I left ?
She is always
arriving
always
leaving
I am still
here
on the shore
throwing stones
over the river’s
undulating
body
This morning
did you
hear their
damp dead
thump
among
the damp fallen
leaves
calling to you?
WATCH THE VIDEO
The nights
are getting
colder
have you noticed
I am
no longer
speaking
for now
I look down
the length
of the river,
her long
bluegreen
body
curves
north
We have
not spoken
for awhile
I look to
the horizon
look
forward
to winter
like when
we met
— Remember?
Remember.
I
walk
the
length
her body
where
buckle
berries
bend at
the bank
drink
long and
slow
I wander
up
to the
top
of a hill
where
couriers
have
brought
urgent
tele-
grams
written
on red
and gold
leaves
“Be of good cheer.”
Be of Good Cheer.
It’s been
too long love
since I looked
forward
to winter
Maybe that
comes with
reading the
migration of
certain birds
or the tracks
of coyotes
left in
the dust
under a full
moon or the
shedding skin
of the snake
coiled in
my chest
Leaves
are falling
freely
spinning
bobbing
the river
takes them
caresses
holds
them
afloat
past
trout hiding
under the roots
of a black tupelo
under
the almanac’s
torn out
pages
there is a
chill in the air
can you feel it?
I raise my
collar
imagine a long
coat for you
Take eat this
the body
of my
prayers
The river is
always
between
us will
always be
But
I am not
like
her
I place
the last
black stones
on top
a wall
the un
finished
bridge
I take
water
from her
in
cupped
hands
a red
leaf
turns
in
circles.
The Effigy
I walk
the river
My hair
has grown
long
My beard
a nest for
sparrows
I gather
feathers
fallen from
birds in flight
fix sticks
and stones
river mud
and leaves
into an effigy
dress it
in my shirt
and pants
put prayers
I have written
you
where my
heart would
be.
leave it
on my
side of
the river
naked
I wade into
the river
wash my
self of
my sins
lay quiet
on the shore
dry in the air
stand
small leaves stick
to my skin.
I walk
the river
turn south
and walk
away
singing
at last the
snow fall-
ing
So quiet
the world
is
whispering
I’ve been
looking for-
ward to
every-
thing being
so white
so white
and
so quiet
like after
a
lullaby
