I go there, also. searching through framed seashores Bent,
digging through rubble under bare heels and dust
faints buzz like faints
buzz fuzz light fixtures
I can't recall an instance, displaced six thousand miles-
a six hundred millimeter dash to the closet wall,
where the sun shines more content Bent,
at right angles.
Words leak and falter, alter
like borders. hoards of tight corners.
I felt a woman - made of earth, sword and skirt,
dead and mapped, giving birth. We carved out a piece of the sun
to carry a long
Sdepan Keshishian, Boston, 2008