Tuesday, May 31, 2022


I center an infinitesimal
void. My once grounding desires now arc
at sight's end (desiring survival,
the last among them)—their lights are so far
they bend, then dim. And darkness takes my eyes.
I’m patience’s perfect work: wanting nothing.
Well, one thing: Let her know, Leslie, my wife,
this one thing: only her face in my mind
prevented my disappearing countless
times, and even now inflicts me into now, 
pains me into the present, where darkness
an over wintered oak buds the dawn.

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