John L. Stanizzi





Though there were no trees near me at all,

you were right there,

inhabiting a billowing sheet of hot evening air,

your glass song sporadic and sure,

an unambiguous sketch of the very sound you intended,

a replicated warble whose source I needed to find,

to see, without comprehending of course,

the mechanics of that primal chime,

so I lay belly down on the deck

and tried to be still and listen,

but I was shocked to a start by your appearance;

you were motionless enough to be imaginary,

black eyes in a small gray lump stiller than stone

there at the edge of the pool’s blue light,

and with your mouth closed,

the bagpipe of your throat filled,

your whole body vibrated,

and little veins, tattoos of tiny rivers,

flowed on the globe of your throat,

as you repeated the same simple song

over and over again,

so perfect that its sameness was its beauty,

and that is more than enough

I said to myself,

that is more than enough,

more than enough.



John L. Stanizzi has three books of poems, the newest being Dance Against the Wall. Individual poems have appeared in The New York Quarterly, Tar River Poetry, Rattle, Freshwater, Passages North, The Spoon River Quarterly, Poet Lore, The Connecticut River Review, Stone Country, Hawk & Handsaw, Gutter Eloquence, SNReview, and many others.