After Platonov

Over the earth

A white bell in the sky,

Radiating, like madness.

By eleven, there were already

Yellow horses and something

Wondrous

Singing in the miracle

Of its sleep.

Her face, an ictus of stars.

Before the first morning

I had already invented

A new instrument of religion,

Constructed of glue, gauze,

And the whinny of an old black horse.

In the dream, the wolf appears to me.

I do not know its name.

But in the chemical

Yellow of the forest

I studied the aura of its paw,

The soundlessness of its memory.

Even as a child,

Already, it was too late.

Notes:

Cynthia Cruz, "After Platonov (Over the earth/A white bell in the sky)," from Sweet Repetition. © 2025 by The University of Chicago. Reprinted by permission of the University of Chicago Press. All rights reserved.

Source: Poetry (October 2025)