Mike Bove
Ruminants
What is the animal that gnaws
woody stalks in the low field
of my December, anxious, alert
to rustling near the forest edge?
Someone I love said I had
a winter mind. Over the pond
a layer of ice forms, no wind
to push old scrub. Afternoon sun
gilds dead reeds the color of
common deer. Trouble always
arrives in calm, is dependent
on calm. Nothing to watch. Only
sound: compression scrape
& grind of teeth, persistent
rhythm so low it bleeds into
darkness when day turns
night, a circle in the jaws
of the animal no one sees.
Imperative
Racked by fear
I walk the open field
above the sea.
There are no gods left
to revere & below
cold waves beat
the shore. Save me,
beauty. I’m not asking.
Lore
In the after of storm
the woodland grows
bright with moon-snow.
Field’s edge: luminous
& silent. In a shadow
nearby, the owl, spectral
& alone, makes a sound
in the shape of an open eye.
Mike Bove’s fifth poetry collection, Mineralia, is forthcoming from the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point. His debut novella, A Catalog of Imaginary Houses, is forthcoming from Split/Lip Press. He is a former writer-in-residence at Acadia National Park and the current Editor-in-Chief of Hole in the Head Review, a biannual poetry journal. Mike is Professor of English at Southern Maine Community College and lives in Portland, Maine where he was born and raised. www.mikebove.com IG: @portlandbove
Banner Art:
Maine Coast, Rockwell Kent, 1907, The Cleveland Museum of Art
