He Stood
by Aaron Shurin
by Aaron Shurin
He stamped his feet and opened the door,
stood on the threshold, turned around. The desert light shrank his
eyes, sun slammed his face--he almost lost his breath--blond shiny
grasses, ring of distant mountains pinking in the haze, the scorched but
somehow fertile earth--he wiped his brow--he couldn't go in, he
couldn't move, he couldn't say why--as if he too were a thing dried in
sunlight, stopped in his tracks in the heat that fixed him in its
gaze--rattlesnake Medusa--where he breathed the stinging dusty winds as
though a rock inhaling rock--his proper evolution?--and fed on silence
as it flowered and fell--the fierce clarity, the fierce restraint--front
door behind him hanging open like a thrown shadow as he blazed in
place... a man inside the view... the zooming arc... and edge to edge
the blue absolute...
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