Ann Arbor Review
INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
[THE STARS HAVE FORMED THEIR EQUILIBRIUM]
The stars have formed their equilibrium
of imperfections and to ellipses that circle
the places abroad it must be
nothing that there are dark hours
among ruins of kitchen tile and the unread
recipes from mother near the stove.
I have taken measure
of your love with a shattered
instrument and was not the first
to attempt deciphering your crooked brow
under the uncomprehending moon.
A fleet of glass fracture could tell only distance.
I begin to think that there are gravities
other than repetitions charted and observed
those that have existed
independent of any thought.
When I see you, as I have for the duration
of the flux in February and its forgeries of warmth,
I am absolved of any other
destination. Again it becomes the question
of a desecrated place of waiting.
Some things are undone by what is tied to them
the ashes that linger or glass
unswept even by the wind.
And while dreams fall shallow
in fading street lights
there is still an awakening near the window--the slow
realization that there will be only that same
equilibrium where most are left
alone, the few pieces of the sky
that have not drowned in brightness
and tea that is made every morning like this that un-darkens eyes
and bears away
any remembrance of the night.
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