Predawn cold, and the jet stream of breath jumps from the snout. The skin’s final form could be blistered. So says the hands. So says the bark that half moons the split log. So says the axe head and sweat lacquered shaft. A whole cauldron of steam can rise from the humped shoulders when the body becomes the blade. One can look villainous, but what if beauty is the beginning of a terror we can barely stand? So says Rilke. So says the Cyclops, the ogre, and the monster taunted by flame. There was a time I was afraid of him—this father carrying wood in his arms like a babe.
175 The Paris-American
Keith Leonard is the author of Still, the Shore (YesYes Books), a chapbook of poems. He has held scholarships from the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference, the Sewanee Writers’ Conference and Indiana University. His poems are forthcoming from Colorado Review, Gulf Coast, and Redivider, among others.