Tag Archives: Steve Klepetar

Steve Klepetar

W. S. Merwin

I knew a man
who transcribed
the wind

who etched
its song onto
rock ledge
and cliff

as he sat
quietly
by a window
in the sun

his lightning
eyes burning
the world to ash.


Steve Klepetar has a heart too soon made glad, too easily impressed.


 

Steve Klepetar

Will You?

If the wave gathering
strength over the western sea

churns, builds, rises
above coastal cities
like a giant hand,

if it roars us into deafness
or shines like a blinding wall,

will you stand with me
on the cliff’s bare face
to watch the old world drown?


Steve Klepetar has a heart too soon made glad, too easily impressed.


 

Steve Klepetar

What I Brought

The face of a lizard
burned into my skull

a deck of cards
with fifty-two queens

a bucket of sand
turning red in the moonlight

which you can hang
from a maple branch

beneath a squad
of squabbling crows.


Steve Klepetar wishes he could behold nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.


 

Steve Klepetar

Knowing the Way

He uses words to make something
he could grip with hands, a rope

or chain, something he could haul,
like planks or boards or bricks,

not water, not wind, not a song
caught in his ear since last week

but a body made of air, limping
through crowds as if it knew the way.


Steve Klepetar wishes he could behold nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.


 

Steve Klepetar

Boy Scouts of America

I saw a Boy Scout
yesterday in our dying mall

where he built a fire,
spun straw into gold,
sang “Waltzing Matilda”

as he drifted out the exit doors,
his hatchet face honed by wind.


Steve Klepetar wishes he could behold nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.


 

Steve Klepetar

Broken Lamp

Last night
we broke
the lamp

but when
I woke
you were
still asleep

your lovely
face in
shadow, so

I watched
a while,
marveling at
your quiet

breaths, the
streaming of
your hair.


There is no video of Steve Klepetar dancing in college.


 

Steve Klepetar

Winter’s Ghost

Maybe that was what I couldn’t see:
a kind of transcendence long ago, two girls

on a sofa, holding fire in their palms,
waiting for winter’s ghost to finally arrive.


Steve Klepetar once ran 70 yards for a touchdown, but there was no videotape back then and he can’t prove it.*


*The editors of One Sentence Poems are sure Steve is telling the truth.