lost not forgotten
for judith
And so I stroke with it my palm
inclining to nostalgia a moment
seeing in my hand your moving star
This hand wheels on the planet's edge
touches you everywhere
traces a path through the coming dark
knows the discontent
of unmet inclination on the skin.
I walk with an empty space.
Nostalgia over
my white hairs not you but how
many others will see.
As the throat of the blackbird
something tells me you are.
Or tufts or the red admiral.
No matter that you're lost.
You still employ the universe.
I work for you just by living.
Page(s) 54
magazine list
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