The Circle Review
Recital
Mark Mitchell
Gaps in music—
That almost moment when
The pianist fingers hover
Between keys, when the singer’s
Mouth is closed and her breath
Is turning within her—
This is not a rest,
Not a setting for a note
Like some gold band for gemstones.
No, this is the mask of sound
Where mask is a courtly play.
Tetragrammation
Mark Mitchell
Somehow I misplaced the name of God.
It was here only yesterday—

Next to the clock, on the same shelf
As keys, faded pictures, knickknacks.

That’s where we’ve always kept it, right?
Didn’t you see it there last night?

You mentioned it. I’ve checked the cracks.
It didn’t walk off by itself.
​
Well, you can’t say it anyway.
An odd thing to lose. Very odd.