As Louis Dudek, In Love

Christmas, 2010 / No. 25

Umbrella held aloft like paper pulled

from a piñata, we trace the limits

of Marie-Reine-du-Monde and bull

inside. Bad luck: the basilica chaste

save for the confetti of our entrance,

the incline of a room within a room

inked-in in happenstance. By chance,

we’ve stumbled on our Waterloo:

elderly parishioners lulled to sleep,

pews like broken fingers on a working

hand. I take yours now, know your grip,

the clots that bulge like latticework,

confine the prize of blood’s ascent.

See here? Your skin grows lean. Exeunt.

Jim Johnstone is a poet, editor, and critic. His latest books are The Essential D. G. Jones and Dog Ear. Recently, he won Poetry’s Editors Prize for Book Reviewing. Last updated winter, 2016–2017.