My dream was full of people I didn’t know
—you traded places with your sadness.
I tried to care for them and then I woke up.
And when I woke, my eyes hurt with beauty.
Without the sun…you cease to appear to me
Rarified blue and greens.
I thought it saw it for it was, but I’d looked right
‘Twas Crisis—All the length had passed
past it. Just beside it. Only along it.
That dull—benumbing time
You told me this sort of beauty happens every day in other places
as if, even if it did happen
my sense of walking the near edge of perfect pain
had no real meaning.
The world is so casual: it presumes its attrition.
I know it doesn’t. But I don’t need to be reminded when I am inside of it.
Everything I am.
A space filled with shadows of what I perceived.
Remembering when you were here is like nailing horseshoes to hoof-prints
It is an old saw–
today let my self burn hard in its absence
I’ve stripped myself down. I’ve dipped back into that well of pain that belongs only to me
I used to believe I was very good at being lonely.
though you have one too.
All of this is so very abstract. Here is concrete–the seasonality of the cottonwood, the blanketing of the air and the streets with pods. A baby gray squirrel running along the fence line. Some stones, some earth.
Now it doesn’t seem to matter
We no longer share a language
I’m allowed to be total to this and to what was. I’ll be inside everything and I’ll feel it.
Come sanctum Come along strict witness. Look. The eye of a leaf is all.
I cannot be anything else.
the ringing will register inside my heart
a pain appropriate to my age
Quotes by Andrew Grace, Emily Dickinson, Ingeborg Bachmann