Cold call

by | Feb 7, 2022 | Issue Twenty Five, Poetry

God, I’m expecting to hear from you
Any day now, something winged alighting upon me,
A Rush of Cochineal —
The terms of the visitation I leave to your discretion.

Superposition helps, as well as love —
Though you must already understand, as you do the whorls
Of shells and oily fingerprints, of despair’s many steps,
Of staircases descending, too shallow, not built to code.

I dream of falling down, of gravity’s firm grasp;
Air has no Residence, no Neighbor,
I am passing through. My terror leaves as little mark
As my joy when I wake. God, tell me you know —

Affection doesn’t know.

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