We want to remember
our dead, make an altar,
bring our daughter
to the photograph trace a chin
here, for good luck, palm
her grandmother’s hair,
she doesn’t know
who she is yet
We want to remember
our dead, make an altar,
bring our daughter
to the photograph trace a chin
here, for good luck, palm
her grandmother’s hair,
she doesn’t know
who she is yet
Farid says he wants to be a family,
he adds, by which I mean I don’t want you to die.
How did the fall begin? With touch? With naming? You were guidebook, misstep. You were hiking in Japan.
3 things were called into the somehow of morning
two dissimilar metals + moisture = electricity
and me here dimmed, all yesterday I wrote