Days are cubes of light That equal each other Whether anything happens in them or not, No matter what anyone did or didn't do, They are equal. The emptiest are lovely, Though one is drawn to the bright-edged shards Of days that cracked From disappointment and longing. Some days I go looking for oceans. If I find one I search the beach For the teeth I left In a glass of water In a motel room in Nebraska. I'm losing the ability to tremble. I find appearances helpful. Some days I go looking for the sky. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org |