[vc_row row_height_percent=”50″ override_padding=”yes” h_padding=”2″ top_padding=”3″ bottom_padding=”3″ back_image=”56863″ back_position=”center top” overlay_alpha=”0″ gutter_size=”3″ shift_y=”0″][vc_column column_width_percent=”100″ position_vertical=”bottom” style=”dark” overlay_alpha=”50″ gutter_size=”3″ medium_width=”0″ shift_x=”0″ shift_y=”0″ zoom_width=”0″ zoom_height=”0″ width=”1/1″][vc_custom_heading heading_semantic=”h1″ text_size=”fontsize-338686″ text_height=”fontheight-179065″ text_space=”fontspace-111509″ text_font=”font-762333″ text_weight=”700″ text_color=”color-xsdn” sub_reduced=”yes” subheading=”by John Blair”]Ekphrasis: “Nymphs Finding The Head Of Orpheus,” John William Waterhouse, 1901[/vc_custom_heading][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column width=”1/1″][vc_empty_space empty_h=”2″][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]You watch the moon roll one-eyed out
of its cave to search for thieves & drunks
and hear voices a half-mile long fill the woods
with moonglades and longing with Maenads
and frenzies sweating light like fog onto a river
that’s just a long suture sewn with snags to pull
it tight beneath the mast on which a muse
will mount your throbbing severed head
so you can sing the low rain-fiddle of loss,
empty shirt beaten on the rocks until the rocks
themselves are worn away, and the moon
never blinks not even once, wary and grim
and a little disappointed perhaps to catch you,
tender in your sleeves, too shy to stare back
for long with your two good eyes your one
good tune, little worm of wistful, little well
of inklings, last word in a litany of tongues
with which to sing yourself to sleep,
nobody crooning with nobody’s voice
a lullaby that no one else can hear.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column column_width_percent=”100″ align_horizontal=”align_center” overlay_alpha=”50″ gutter_size=”3″ medium_width=”0″ mobile_width=”0″ shift_x=”0″ shift_y=”0″ z_index=”0″ width=”1/1″][vc_empty_space][vc_separator sep_color=”color-184322″ el_width=”30%”][vc_empty_space][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column column_width_percent=”100″ align_horizontal=”align_right” overlay_alpha=”50″ gutter_size=”3″ medium_width=”0″ mobile_width=”0″ shift_x=”0″ shift_y=”0″ z_index=”0″ width=”1/3″][vc_single_image media=”60122″ media_width_percent=”100″][/vc_column][vc_column width=”1/3″][vc_column_text]John Blair is the author of seven books, including The Shape of Things to Come. His poems have appeared in Poetry, The Sewanee Review, The Antioch Review, The Georgia Review, The Colorado Review, and New Letters.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][vc_column width=”1/3″][/vc_column][/vc_row]
