Orient what remains of light. Place it here and there and watch it, frozen in attitude, bring you to an instance of sunflower. If then the bodies of winter seep like oil into the void of their older shapes, and the flesh-buttered angel twitches in its sleep– wake up, black boy. You have been killed while searching the cosmos.
Christopher Morris received his MFA in creative writing from The Ohio State University. His poems have appeared in Beloit Poetry Journal and Transition Magazine.