r. krantz

Whitman in Canada

Our dying didn't
matter to many,
silence of our song
becoming a palate of
adolescent chortles
and chants
for more or less.
Our first kiss
in Canada grew
like cities on plains—
spears of wheat,
new roots earth-desperate
and starving.
For once, nothing
arose from the past,
no green tides
to pull our moods
over these naked swells
of blue sage and heather—
clear-eyed moon
speaking bold yesses
to its own hovering.
In the evening,
you lounge on the settee
of the hotel portico,
remembering undergraduate
cigarettes and Niagara Falls.
I read Whitman,
last page to first—
beginning with death,
ending in light.

Author Portrait

r. krantz's individual works have appeared in Gargoyle, Pittsburgh Poetry Review, Antiphon and others. Bitterzoet Press recently published two chapbooks of his work (Plus 4 and Hansel). He makes his living as an industrial sales engineer in the Midwest.