Miles Without Grace
With October gone
and cold cascading
over church steps,
stiffening the wings of
butterflies and hawks
a new dream raves
with October gone.
Falling clouds, falling shadows
into the heart-nests
into the white morning flame.
Only these things of faith won’t die,
only the skulls, the bronze soldiers
and the garden clocks live and knock
Midnight on the stairs. A hard
bow and chain. And the brown-eyed
children laughing in the afternoon.
Death does not bow.
It is wood and nightingale cry.
I carry him with me
in my knapsack memories
and in the inside, whole and as
gentle as a ghost gliding over
Copyright © 1995 by Allison Grayhurst
Published in “The Peregrine Muse” July 2017
First published in “Pawn Press” 1994
You can listen to the poem by clicking below:
“Somewhere Falling has a richness of imagery and an intensity of emotion rare in contemporary poetry. Drawn in sharp outlines of light and darkness, and rich shades of colour, with a deep sense of loss and longing and the possibility of salvation, this is an unusual book by a gifted young poet. Grayhurst’s voice is one to which we should continue to pay attention.” — Maggie Helwig, author of Apocalypse Jazz and Eating Glass.
“Responsibility and passion don’t often go together, especially in the work of a young poet. Allison Grayhurst combines them in audacious ways. Somewhere Falling is a grave, yet sensuous book.” – Mark Abley, author of Glasburyon and Blue Sand, Blue Moon.
“Biting into the clouds and bones of desire and devotion, love and grief, Allison Grayhurst basks the reader, with breathtaking eloquence, in an elixir of words. Like lace, the elegance is revealed by what isn’t said. This is stunning poetry.” – Angela Hryniuk, author of no visual scars.