Three Poems

Leaving the City of Acupuncture

Round days undid themselves against us.
Such windows blurred in the precision of their pixels:
How to signify what meant to you? The rain in the windows
Shaving itself new? A face remaking itself
In its own desultory image
Meant more to its landscape than you.

Through the wall of still- Night air we read Trakl to each other, then spat on our hands,
Then leaned over the edge of the marina. The moments
Did not absorb us. We could say it again and again,
We told each other, without the meaning ever having to change
Into something that might once have meant the same.


Three Summaries

During My Time Here

I have learned that activities do not bring us closer together.
Retelling an activity creates intimacy more efficiently.
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