Good-bye to Golden Nights
one’s life as circular
makes sense of movement,
how should we muscle
meaning into days?
As if we end up
where we’ve dreamt, . . .
Transition: The Renaming of Hope
I will miss Anne, with the well-placed e and easy shape. Steep climb, perfect point, and the slide into the runout of three short, round letters. . . .
The Santa Lucia station swarmed with security guards, choking off all water traffic. And Carlo sat sulking in his gondola, an American couple in his charge, their faces burning a bright shrimp pink as they strained to get a look at the pop star. . . .
The White Poet Wants to Know Why I Don’t Write More Arab Poems
Because, while a war blooms at the margins
of the other country that claims me, still
I am here with my ordinary grief and its language. . . .