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I drift into the sound of wind,
how small my life must be
to fit into his palm like that, holly
leaf, bluejay feather, milkweed fluff,
pin straw or sycamore pod, resembling
scraps of light. The world
slips through these fingers
so easily, there’s so much
to miss: the sociable bones
linked up in supple rows, mineral
seams just under the skin. I hold
my palm against the sun and don’t see
palm or sun, don’t hold anything
in either hand. I look up, look
away (what’s that?), I trip
and stumble (fall
again), find myself face down
in duff, a foam of fallen live oak
leaves, with only
this life, mine at times.
From Fata Morgana by Reginald Shepherd, © 2007. Included in Vox Populi by permission of the University of Pittsburgh Press.
Reginald Shepherd (1963 – 2008) was an American poet, born in New York City and raised in the Bronx. Shepherd taught at Northern Illinois University and Cornell University.

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Must discover him. Thank you for posting this, Michael.
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…and I agree with everyone : there’s also a great tendernesss in so many of his poems. And yes, his Selected should be on your shelves!
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Thanks so much for sharing this! And everyone, please check out The Selected Shepherd from Pitt Poetry Series! It contains poems that trace Reginald’s poetic development in a beautiful (and, I think, heartbreaking) way, PLUS a fabulous introduction by Jericho Brown!
The Selected Shepherd – University of Pittsburgh Press (upittpress.org)
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Thanks for the heads up. I just ordered the Kindle copy, and have it in my hand for reading in the dark at bedtime. I see U Pitt has published much, if not all, of his work. Thanks also to the UPittPress for being a long-time leader in supporting intriguing poets.
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One of the best gifts from Vox Populi—a new poet to love.
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Yes, Reginald was great.
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A few years back, I happened on a wonderful book of essays by Reginald Shepard called Orpheus in the Bronx. In it he wrote passionately of beauty, quoting the philosopher Francis Bacon: there is no beauty that hath not some proportion of strangeness in it. I see that quest for beauty, and its strangeness, in this poem. Shepherd was adamant that as a poet of color and gayness some expected him to be a mouthpiece for either race or sexuality, but he said beauty drove him, along with the attempt to write beautifully but not matter of factly. A fascinating thinker and writer. I took copious notes from that book.
thanks to him, for what he gave us. to quote Margo B’s comment:
Mysterious, mystical.
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Thanks, Jim. Beautifully said.
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One of America’s finest lyric poets…gone too soon. This poem is a wonderful example of his gifts.
And how it ends: “…with only /this life, mine at times.”
Mysterious, mystical .
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I agree, Margo. Reginald was a gifted poet.
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