g 2 book

g
Jason Lytollis
James Lloyd

‘g’
The extra bight and bar above the door,
supernumerary. A sign hidden
in plain sight. Silent tell,
its traces gnomic,
an orthographic sleight.

God watches
Nonconformists’ quiet plights, His sons
and daughters huddled in the meeting
house.

Stars’ nightly alignments are freighted with sighs;
I hold a northern girl tight,
we weigh together, buckling lightly.

In the peace garden
remembering lives lost
or blighted by fighting,
snowdrops and trilliums push.

While words flex
like a property of light,
ghosting and gone,
hold sounds in breath’s infold
before their jump and flap and flight.

And a poet thinks
of a vent act’s glut of velar stops,
all geegee ‘gotalling’ together,
has troubling dreams
of futures resigned
to shortening reigns and
lengthening lines.