Poetry from NER 42.3 (2021)
I’m wiping the glue off an old book,
a fact so small who knows if I would have
told it to you. Afterward, there continue
these accumulations. We woke at this time
and spoke first to each other each day
for three years,
and now what?
I was in love and once illuminated.
Now I am alone. Peddling in plain morning
like a god who walks toward a street of only
birds. Only in their singing do they fly apart
and grow their understanding.