This is where one year, one life, one night
ago I left an exhaled breath
like a silver ornament. The sky, like a jeweler,
keeps it cased. It is precious.
Deer bedded down in the ditch, safe,
white-spotted, ignorant. I wore
the fog like a Victorian
skirt. I was old, trying on the centuries.
I prayed to destroy
with my stone bones.
Pills exploded like countless little bombs
in my stomach bile. God,
I was iron-clad,
and mad. The shirked impact
whistled past—it’s metallic blare
acquired a body. Black planet,
shifting its masses,
circumambulates me like a holy object.
James Champion is from Whitehall, Michigan. He likes skiing, walking, travelling. In other words, he is frightened of stillness. However, he is also enthralled by it. This balance might well be an accurate summation of his writing. He is the current Editor-in-Chief of Temenos Literary Journal.