Chris Forhan
Against Transcendence
Beyondness exhausts me:
the false promise
of the sea, steady exhaltation
of waves, the summoning—
sky exuberantly blue
as if you could swim in it.
I strode wide of myself once:
that wedding is dead.
I served as witness
to my soul's long yearned-for
worthless and lonely enthronement.
I force no ghost to show itself.
I turn from the waves,
turn from the hills
humiliating themselves
with a cheerful late sheen of snow,
I turn from those pale-gold
flickerings—abandoned chapel
deep in a wood lit
by a single candle—
that are her eyes.
