
Author Archives: Timothy P. Schilling
Steps

Silence circles the host

Blind man’s buff
You come to me but I
wander around.
I touch everything but you
till you
remove the blind
and see for me
you.
Horses

The country squire

On falling asleep to Williams’ Lark Ascending
There’s a measure of peace in all things,
a first warm sky of the season
in every bleating cold rainy dark
and so, though I see
neither through nor branch
in the blue from my couch,
my body’s settled to become
a meadow for the birds
Wally holds his tongue at the table
Your freedom is just a
chomping down on life,
a crunching of the world and self to bits,
a decorous atomization
Dutch house 17 November 2016

Of weeds and wheat and smoke and fire
The Gronk has a punctured lung
maybe
the paper says
and you can still see the hit
the one-two
and still feel how
you were glad for it
after what he did to us
two years ago
catching that pass.
What Christ thinks of football I don’t want to know,
but I can see his eye
and hear his breath,
and I’d best be off
before I think some more.