White

by Craig Raine

Craig Raine

A cabbage white:
A bluster at the edge of sight,

unbroken bronco,
its own mute rodeo,

a battle without issue.

*

White toilet tissue,

a single grey sheet, whole
in the lavatory bowl,

like ectoplasm.

*

No lightning in spasms.

Dark. But white rain,
smashed transparency:

contains
flash photography.

*

Is now electricity:

tiny bulbs, silver-white, shine
on the blue plastic washing line.

*

Dirty white, a pigeon tarred
and feathering the road.

*

New lambs
out on their limbs:

abrupt
little hiccoughs.

The twilight tone
of damp pumice stone.

*

Indifferent happiness writes
its different whites.





Last updated October 02, 2022