“White on Glass,” “Auto-Genesis” and “Foreground and Background”

“White on Glass,” “Auto-Genesis” and “Foreground and Background”

Photo by Nataliya Smirnova on Unsplash

White on Glass

I remember being thirteen

And the snow falling so completely

On the windshield.

It was as if I were alone.

So sudden and delicate.

A single open window in which the cold light expands.

The hard wind

Blows it away again,

Then it returns.

I could sense that this pulsation

Was my chest heaving,

And that there were pathways in the snow,

Up there, where the water grows soft.


Sun light, given enough time

Encloses itself in skin

Like a sealed urn of blood

Just a tendency out from under night

Copulating somewhere inside itself,

Producing a liquid flame

Cut from rhythm sans

Awareness, releasing breath

In striations of pinkish-red

Scouring the dust with flora—

In my hand a Camellia

sleeping gem of heat

Feverish perhaps; dreaming of

A tragic life in which it cares

So deeply that it moves its stalk

Towards the intermediary goal,

Longing for the flower-emptiness

Placed on top of its palm

Confident in the total existence

Of the overwhelming touch

Which envelops me

A hum of difference emerging

In the play between petal and finger

Upon which the axle of a moment

Turns again, again

Our inbreath the collection of water

Vibrating through passageways lit with sun

Foreground and Background

Sex is a nodal point, interposed,

Around which many images luxuriate.

Not the outpouring itself

Which comes from nowhere.

Don’t you know

Which lack fills which whole?

That certain contours of mind

Relax, delicately their limbs

Into oppositions?

Into amputations, in this case.

That there are contradictions

In their overlapping tapers

Of light and tongue,

Of milk and voice?

That behind mother

Is the sea?

And behind the sea

Is the blind sun and fish breathing,

And behind these are stones

Crashing silently in space

As if to prove themselves?

And all of these perhaps

Not behind but between

And against, like glass triptychs

Depicting scenes of miniscule importance

—and yet haloed?

About the Author

Jacob Weil

Jacob Weil is a recent graduate of American University in Washington DC, with a bachelor's in Philosophy and Literature, and has been writing poetry seriously now for around three years. You can find more of his poems at Pinky Thinker Press, Tatterhood Review, and Cathexis Northwest Press.

Read more work by Jacob Weil.