|PHOTO: Luio Argerich|
Originally published in the September 2012 issue of Empirical
There will always be glaciers worth cursing,
drifting off and out,
and this will always be for the waterless sea,
for the moments we were married at the spine of the world,
feeling the nervous system,
then scattered like electrons
to the swamp where we ate fishbones in the reeds,
with magnolias leering beauty from leather escarpments.
I send smoke signals
to the other mountain
between the state line,
where you are cast away in ancient places,
and covered with green and creeping stillness,
only seeing night stitched across the fenceposts.
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