fingers unloop the length of him
she slips from the breaking
light
of morning
watches the way the moon
slinks from daylight (the breaking
morning slips in)
fingers recall the strength
of his hands; he holds
her mouth in his memory
from "Workbook #13: A Songbook of Confession" by Valerie Poulin
If Oprah posed the question, Anderson Cooper’s Dispatches from the Edge urged me to action.
Time is not a line, but a series of now-points.
— Taisen Deshimaru
We draw
imaginary lines from
one burning stone
to another, create
a constellation, something
we can almost touch
something we can believe
because
if it can be held
it can be held close.
From “Brushing Back History” a chapbook of poetry by Valerie Poulin.