Two Poems
David Ehmcke
‍

To rent a view of the total sky—

There are true facts the myth cannot afford.

And the day unbraids in streaks of purple,

unburdening attention from the narrator’s eye.

I like it that way, slippery, beyond me,

placing visions in the head and sharpening

other kinds of sight. The better to see you with,

shearing away the less important details

here where you aren’t. Today the world’s busy,

confused, trying complicated chords

and the night looks like Rafael, another

handy illusion pulling me deeper into

the local whorl. O illusion, speak to me.

Stay—.
‍

Bad night. Toronto’s got that fuzzy color

about it, warning of trouble. Snow.

No snow. No you where I thought you’d be.

So cold these nights my breath writes

letters that dissolve in the air like ideas,

like love, like the myth of a private life.

Through the hotel window: a hotel window.

In the corner of the square: groups

of people I could know, smoking there.

O storm of the heart. O storm of the heart.

Quiet: the man in the window weeps.