Travis Wright's poems have appeared in The Brooklyn Quarterly, Dappled Things, Ekstasis, and Anthropocene, among others, and have been recently anthologized by Little Gidding Press. He lives in Cambridge (UK) with his wife and children, where he is finishing a PhD.
Before a Resurrection These are last hours before last hours, and the flowers, earthen syntax between sign and sign, between your life and mine, bound in silence to the ground at night, where I wait, not knowing which words to say as proof that to rise and worship is right. Rewilding We are to…
This winter I have let my beard hang like litter from my face, and boiled tea, and for a time, looked on and longed to be taken alongside the fields by undisturbed whiteness. There I would mind the cold for its finch-thick sill of bone, and watch last week’s split ash burn like the debris…
“Πάνισκος κεχρη” -P.Lond. III 658 What we share when the nights grow cold is the thrill of life’s noble luster. Perhaps you too, like me, will remember the fiery sight of water running west at night like power untouched even by the gods. They come to you, caked in sand and suffering, wishing to…
For R.S. Thomas Even here the priest must hold our horror in his hands, and press it to his lips, gentle, to surrender its shock, and drain the freight glow and gloss of the body’s bent light, while the land grays, and long green rolls of field and bone elide between twin silences. “See how…
