Patience,
in its peculiarity,
does not wear thin,
but rather stretches into thinness
a dozen other virtues more brittle
than itself. What use my fortitude
when worn to translucence like the
bedsheets we left behind?
How frayed my compassion,
so quick to snap and show
the ice it hides. But yes,
let's count the days, wait
and wait and wait and wait
until the air is thin, and
we're out of breath, until
we find there's nothing
left between us
yet to break.
For my friend on the occasion of her wedding. What I know of mirrors is their imperfection, their imbalance of mathematics: one reflects one, & we imagine this is wholeness & we believe we know oursel
For my friend on the occasion of his wedding. No eye for art, you said, and turned toward Hunger, livid color leaving you cold, neither keen, nor compelling, not enough, not when you already know how
It is not Death that watches us with suspicion, yet you invoke Her name anyway, make of Her a boundary, make of me an earthen intimacy. There is no revelry in roots no matter how deep they run, only f