Craig Dinwoodie

a theory of beauty

he is where the birds will not go anymore—
              the snow fields and blue sky, with heavy air
in his lungs— I want to understand his love

              of horses, and how he lets his feelings touch
his silence, so I follow his pale eyes in secret
              and imagine the world into which they gaze—

only then can I find him at work in that barn,
              next to crates of blueberries picked at dawn,
whittling branches into vague expressions—

              he becomes the exterior dimension of a mood
like a stone table appearing warm with tomatoes—
              smells of oil, of hay— then a wooden chair snaps

from its shadow’s weight— suddenly I’m his body
              calling fields to echo open, like a boy hemmed
to the morning darkness, waiting for the weather

              of his wild horses— yet only from this distance
can I ask for more from him— coming through as
              whispers on the dirt drive to the farmhouse,

in the apple orchard, under the fragrant pines,
              around the ferns and ponds to the empty stable,
insisting: your horses can never return again

              to this landscape without a theory of beauty—
still he stays of two minds: gravity or horizon—
              and I’m his only good ear, refusing to listen

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Craig Dinwoodie is a poet from New Jersey. Recently, he lived in Shanghai, China where he taught English and facilitated the poetry group at The Shanghai Writer’s Workshop. Currently, he is a poetry editor at Pinky Thinker Press.