Union Sniper

In the distance the yellow rocks
of the chimney waver like a stem
of phlox. The window glares deep red

from the setting sun. Now beyond my scope
the light drops, the lamp turns on, the room
fills with movement. You are there, that man.

Time and the unseen wind separate us,
two things a child might muse upon.
Beginning to end, my finger drives

so slowly against the trigger that the field birds
twittering as they glide and skim
the fresh mown grass are squeezed within me.

Within you, us. Down within our lungs,
our veins, our pumping blood,
we enclose the beauty

of the field. Now the Maker must unmake
His distance, to still your heart, your breath,
release your muscles from the gravity

they’ve longed to abandon. Your body,
surrounded by others, within a twitch
has lost its way. They, at first

disliking your unseemly collapse,
fire sharp looks of disapproval.
Finding you blameless, they search for me.

No matter where they gaze, I’m gone.
I rest among thick needles of pine.
I lie on my back dreaming. In me,

another world appears, of those I love,
the land I’ve walked on, the streams
I’ve bent toward to dip my hands and take

a drink. Where is this Heaven? The wind
and what it carries come without our thinking.
My friend, my victim, we die inside

the gently sloping air. What are space and time
but the brain’s foolish care
to measure what flies within it?

*Dr. John Bensko has an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from The University of Alabama and a Ph.D. in 20th century poetry and narrative technique from Florida State University. Before coming to The University of Memphis, he taught at The University of Alabama, Old Dominion University, Rhodes College, and, as a Fulbright Professor in American Literature, at The Universidad de Alicante, Spain. Dr. Bensko won the McLeod-Grobe Poetry Prize for 2000. He is Director of the River City Writers Series for the 2005-2006 season.