I Took My Place
That was my debt.
It wasn’t second; it wasn’t third.
I took my place and waited. You were on
the other end of my world (a mourning)
but the gorgeous kind, which includes
Edenic roses and crispy apples.
We watched the dismantling of the library
in awe. How could such? And what if?
But the piles of books refused
to be figurative—Gawain dragged to storage.
I wanted to collapse in you or find some shared
furrow that translates roughly into a train
of thought and take it so far past the cedars
that we could recognize our own ghosts.
