You are an emptiness, an absence,
the silence where song used to be,
morning light with no shadow cast,
diminished by years, by distance.
He presses at the edges of memory
without knowing, without seeing how
ache grows when given enough space,
how your ghost billows between us,
how his shine makes me long
for your sharpness.
For my friend on the occasion of her wedding. What I know of mirrors is their imperfection, their imbalance of mathematics: one reflects...
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...
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....
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