Andrew Maxwell

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in rainlight

How slowly this thicket is woven within us.
Unspoken.
As nothing is nothing like this.

This darkening. All that is merely is waiting
for grace. As each day is. As unto us
nothing is given. Each day is

by rainlight. Embracing this thicket
in silence for only

one moment. One moment
which only this intimate
distance within us

holds open. Already within us.
In silence becoming

as wet as          wet skin is. Unwoven
by rainlight. Embracing
this thicket which

fades now. As now and again now this. Now
to be only is only to follow this

nothing. Is endless.

Andrew Maxwell is from Bucks County, Pennsylvania. His poems have previously appeared or are forthcoming in Yalobusha Review, Lana Turner, Colorado Review, antiphony, and Conjunctions, among other places.