Dressed, in fact, you are complex as twenty fugues,
sundry, contrapuntal, airy, opalescent:
your smallest gesture makes smoke plains, oyster reefs:
dressed, you are full as the noon sun falling over Gibraltar.
Dressed in white, you are tan as dawn's buck,
savannahs and sunrises along your wrists;
with a single scarf, you are burnished and pied,
three seasons the largest cathedral can’t contain.
Fully dressed, you are twice as far as the purplest field,
straight, fast-twitch, Rembrandt-black when evening dies
and you emerge from the elbow of night
into the quick heat of your leisure
where fresh darkness flames, disrobes, floods into stem
and faces the body’s first idea, trussed only in words.
HARRY BAULD is from Medford, Massachusetts. He was included by Matthew Dickman in Best New Poets 2012 and his poems have appeared in Nimrod, Southern Poetry Review, The Southeast Review, Verse Daily, Ruminate, The Baltimore Review, Whiskey Island, and Deliberately Thirsty (UK). He won the 2008 New Millenium Writings poetry prize. He teaches high school in the Bronx.