And here we sit, eating boiled eggs on wilted lettuce, drinking tepid tea then picking our teeth afterwards. What is there left not to believe? A man marries then breaks all his promises before the first year even settles into the shape of the familiar. Snow has fallen in the desert, and millions have died, suddenly and alone, gasping for breath. But then again, what can we say with certainty about a universe where the idea of hugging and eating in restaurants has been shaken? Once the impossible is imagined, the hairline crack in ice begins to broadcast its more widespread campaign. One day in the future, will others read the chapter in a book describing how we failed to recognize so many things in our world are not in fact timeless or unchanging? Or will there be time to tether what hasn't been lost or cloven, even as we watch the old forms drift into the farther unknown?
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.