Thursday, March 7, 2013

Two Poems by James Owens


so hard now,
not to be scattered
among shadows
and the memory of voices
a light
that calls him back
or a light
that calls him away
broken the air broken into snow
or weeping now and
hands heavy with broken
sunlight like
hands full of shards
sometimes the thin ivory bones
of your hands
refuse to wake
but whisper “break us” to the ravens
they fly and pluck black
notes of music from the
wing-beaten air
James Owens divides his time between Wabash, Ind., and Northern Ontario. Two books of his poems have been published: An Hour is the Doorway (Black Lawrence Press) and Frost Lights a Thin Flame (Mayapple Press). His poems, reviews, translations, and photographs have appeared widely in literary journals, including recent or upcoming publications in The Cortland Review, The Cresset, Poetry Ireland, and The Chaffey Review. He blogs at

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