James Grabill’s poems have appeared in numerous periodicals since the early ‘70s. His recent books of poems include October Wind (Sage Hill Press, 2006) and An Indigo Scent after the Rain (Lynx House Press, 2003).
His creative nonfiction books are Finding the Top of the Sky (Lost Horse Press, 2005) and Through the Green Fire (Holy Cow! Press, 1995).
A rusted bolt flew off a metal-wheeled tractor before we were born,
steaming to the ground with its old shade, a scalding meteor
thundering down by a black ant. A silence followed it down
People who had believed in the color green,
the gorge falls behind atomic tedium
expelling long afternoon over this fraction
through all dark blast flash not happening,
the planetary crux in the crucible of kindness,
through thumping chest-swims breath knows
the beginning of, something like a dissolved room
where a white door frame empties into a pasture
A barn collapses and fills again with wind
and light over the little ant. It’s like breathing,
the scarab beetle scrambling along an edge.
And God must be riding a horse made of wild energy.
And that horse probably eats grass out there
at the far reaches behind the black mask of the rainstorm,