I sit with my back in my hands, turnedagainst everything. I’m facing what I think
is the wind. It has the eyes I’ve sought,the skin I’ve felt under stone. It has
the sound of only and a wrist of land.I can smell it calling through swirling
birch. And when I reply, my voiceestranges me, praises this blindfold
of world across my eyes. Dark feltmaking my eyelashes bow. What I find
here will be represented, brokenand exposed. What I say will have ruin
value contained in the breath of a bodythat is maddeningly whole. [End Page 45]
Christopher Kondrich is the author of Contrapuntal (Parlor Press, 2013) and a recipient of The Paris-American Reading Series Prize. New poems appear or are forthcoming in American Letters & Commentary, Boston Review, Colorado Review, Guernica, Gulf Coast, Drunken Boat, The Paris-American, Sixth Finch, 32 Poems and Washington Square. He is a PhD Candidate at the University of Denver and an editor for Denver Quarterly.