Meditations on a File
I weigh you, a minute in each hand,With the sun & a woman’s perfumeIn my senses, a need to smoothEverything down. You belong To a dead man, made to fitA…
Ghost at the Hy-Vee
I’d seen him just two months before—his brother’s service, condolencesover orange juice—but when I shook Dan’s hand between aisles, my lips spoke Jack.Or Jack spoke Jack through me, slipping backby vowel rhyme, and…
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