Thinking of George Trakl
--Charles Wright (1977)

August, the bones of summer, the chamber and last lunch
Before the fall. All day the creatures and small wings
Have hung back or held their tongues.
All day they have known what we will know when the time comes.

Sister of Mercies, a body is laid out, look,
Under the ghost light of the stars. 11:15. With different breaths,
Silently, up from the river, its wet-sheet of mist
Is drawn forth and arranged,

Lips part in the bleached willows.
Finger by finger, above Orion, God's blue hand unfolds.

There's a park in town which I have driven through at night where the willows and the banks of the river inlet they line always seem to rest bloodless while a horizon of city stars and highway traffic carries on with other and grossly varied stories. And I was thinking that a capturing photo would nicely accompany this poem, if done in the hands of a much more capable photographer than myself. But not now and not actually necessary. Wright and the posthumous influence of Trakl have their scene envisaged fully and complete.