John D. Fry
from letters from a dark star
iii / Sachs
my books have wandered about
as orphans, every breath
I draw belief in
transcendence
suffusion with pain
inspiritment of
dust, vocation
we are called
in an invisible universe
we mark out our
dark accomplishment
light makes the stone
break into music
longing pierces from the very
beginning where the wash of
uncertainty begins
blessing be
with you
viii / Celan
from my heart, all the unanswerable
questions these dark days
this ghostly, mute not-yet, this even
more ghostly and mute no-longer
and once-again, between the unforeseeable,
even tomorrow, even today, ever yours
xii / Sachs
your book of
radiance, your Zohar
crystalline angels
letters, transparent in spirit
active in the creation
outside the threshold, kneeling
dust and tears
cracks it comes
gate that leads
veiling creation
God went into
exile (tsimtsum)
world out of
his inner self
all your breaths
so blessed your
xiii / Sachs
two handwritings are left
in which the letters glow
almost eight years
Germany bristling
one human
was enough
you came
holy word
xvi / Sachs
grant such comfort, such joy
death-mouth November glowing
Mandelstam again deep-eyed
still moist dripping from the source
transformation translation deep doubts
polar light locked in its crystal even after contact
my unquiet blood these nocturnal stammering
John D. Fry is the author of the chapbook silt will swirl (NewBorder Publishing). He will receive his MFA from Texas State University San-Marcos in December of 2012. Poems have appeared or are forthcoming in This Spectral Evidence, Pebble Lake Review, and Konundrum Engine Literary Review, among others. He serves as an editor for Newfound: An Inquiry of Place and for Front Porch.