A professor in the religious studies department at the University of Virginia, Kevin Hart’s Christianity is ever present even as he writes passionately of young love, titillation, and “thin girls who taste of Beaujolais at night.” That he is comfortable with grief, mystery, solemnity, biblical and classical history, and humility instills his work with rare depth.
Late summer, over forty years ago,
I went with friends to laze around
Some reeds beside a stream,
The evening overfull with time,
And simply lay there looking, talking low.
Next week we’d go our ways: three boys,
A girl with whiskey lips;
And words came thin with that eclipse,
And there was nothing much at all to see,
But life was waiting there, immense,
Impatient, at each home,
And other words began their hum.
Tonight I look out from my peeling porch
And know those same old waves of heat,
Taste bourbon with a lick,
And feel again her slow, torn look.
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