Gris-Gris, an online journal of literature, culture & the arts


by Peter Cooley


Will there be possibles—the other side?
Morning through the clouds, New Orleans winter—
the blue such depth and width as angels’ wings
in Renaissance Old Masters—
such clearest relic of my earlier life—
but when? My image of a life to come—
How? Now?
++++++++Through this blue everything begins—
everything’s everything. The wish to fix,
the hunger to perfect, the quenchless thirst,
the ocean floor of sex, of poetry—