| Two Poems Josh Cohen |
| |||
The Verities Near dusk retreating color leads the eye from cloud to cloud, those bright pocked rinds like orange peel beneath a growth of mold, their penicillin glow a false cure fading as the last lucidities of day resolve to night. The sun-clogged scrim of afternoon is now a dim and porous veil, this blue a deeper shade of truth backlit with lesser bulbs. No telling, though, which are the living rays and which the residue of long-spent suns. From heavens of so much dark fact any brilliant lie will do: brave dot of a meteoric jet, the borrowed | sheen on a lackluster moon, fool's gold of planets glimpsed in evening's river bed shining for all the world like stars. The Wreck The boat is washed and washed to bone. The timbered curves describe a skiff more wind than wood, the hull a safe whose lock the sea has learned to pick.  | |||
