Three Poems by Philip Jason
Through the Roar of the Sun, I Hear the Tiny Yelp of the Other Stars
I lay myself on the ground
like one of your shadows.
There is a tincture
to help you see
through the shading.
Pour some
into your glass and sip. It tastes
like the quietest star.
The ground is not a suitable place
to leave your shadows. They
remind me of bodies broken by
a long inquisition; they look
like an incomplete stain.
On Plato’s cave wall, there is
graffiti. It says
“Justice is a grain of sand
that sinks the less fortunate
of two resting scales.”