Poetry

From the Underbook #5
Short //
From the Underbook #5 by

You run away like the usual shadow of my southbound train. / Again: bird tracks in ice & I mistook them / for your tiny feet / —but I would know you, wouldn’t I, my / casualty / among all the world’s sighs.

From the Underbook #4
Short //
From the Underbook #4 by

More clearly? I do my best. / “Painfully”—though she might / have meant prayerfully, night / full of drams or drawn, dark rain & the rest—

Apophasis
Short //
Apophasis by

Like some Sunday afternoon, my years emerge— / a car ride through the country then the city then back, / the maple trees, flax fields, rivers: a distance / but so close that memories are puffs of air on my closed eyes / and so it goes, and so I go like everyone / existing in small rooms, waiting.

Die Versify
Short //
Die Versify by

The pity is not / that the century / has wound to a close but / that it’s whining / on and on… / Somewhere beyond / the pervasive rattle, / waves break on the shore.