Despite the enormous evening sky
spreading over most of the canvas,
as moon no more

Consider the white space
between words on a page, not just

In the end we are no more than our own stories: 
mine a few brief passages in the Book, 
no further trace of plot or dialogue. 

Though we’re pages apart this time,
just being in the same issue
is like being at a party together.

I am haunted by the names
of foreign places: Lvov and its bells;
Galway with its shimmer of green;

Set in the silence of pure perspective,
the ideal city has no people in it,
only buildings. On these streets Order rules

You must rock your pain in your arms
until it’s asleep, then leave it
in a darkened room

She’s given up sex.
She’s given up travel.
She’s given up the rush

March is the start
of the incontinent season.
My father would have been

On a day of windy transition, one season to the next,
you spoke of helping your mother close her house,
of the choices you had to make—what to discard,