5 Poems Shannon Tharp


To make a decent field recording



It takes time
to take
apart
a sigh—

chronology is
an arrangement
of spare wings.

Beat them correctly
and the sea
will come

as a lot of
small birds
prepared
to carry rock.



Fashion



Place scaffolds
at tenuous gables.

And let toys
announce a symbol
for home.

We can only fail the farm—
put off what’s arterial.

Some day,
intersections
will plot us.




Pedestrian


Our mooring rope’s worn
and sent you from the reeds.

You’re not for hemming,
but for casting.

On the days when the water is smooth,
when lights are flashing,
or children are present,

I’ll swear
I saw you disappear
altogether.


Something of what we sense may be true


There must have been names,
hidden as they are now
in the cloud rack.

The yet of it all:
no one knows how
stitches concede.

Change
mends
that way.

for William Bronk



Mathematical



It’s enough
to know
the wind
has stopped—

that
withstanding’s
ligature
still holds.

More than
this,
there’s
nothing

but
what’s
lifeless
outside

my shadow.
Eyes. A face
to bear
me up,

bring me
back if
tomorrow
is meant.