2 January 2020
Gregory Crosby
For a long time, I felt there was a veil
that draped the world, a gauze or cellophane;
now I’ve come to know it’s more of a blur–
every moment a smearing of self,
a shadow that never lifts because it’s
made of light. Is it all a blur because
our eyes are full of false light? The veil lifts;
drops. Log in, log off. Stare into the flames;
later we’ll learn it was faulty wiring.
The new year begins with fireworks &
missile strikes. Meet the new fear, sane as
the old fear; old acquaintance, never forgot.
Smoke or ash, veil or blur? All eyes blink, burn.
When I reach out to touch it, it turns, turns.
Gregory Crosby is the author of Walking Away from Explosions in Slow Motion (2018, The Operating System), and the chapbooks Spooky Action at a Distance (2014, The Operating System) and The Book of Thirteen (2016, Yes Poetry). He teaches creative writing in the College Now program at Lehman College.
