James Goertel presents poems from his second collection, With No Need for a Name, in a continuing series for Yareah Magazine at both his Tuesday and Friday poetry features. All 100 are untitled and will be presented in order.
These long winds have ceased, their cold length giving way
to glass warmed by March sun. I can forget my own name
for now, call off the war, wander a creek bed until I am wet
to the knees. With the winter madness that abuts one year,
the next is justified. We are torn in two, half left to dance
under the milk-stained moon, the other sitting squarely in a
chair – the forced curve of its construction more a map
of possibility than the stars.