IN THE TIME OF SHORTENING DAYS
The crickets have come
to sing summer out,
smooth black invisible chirring
like planets spinning.
I have fed the little rat
who tips the tray--
each of us awake in differing skins,
on a yellow-leaf evening
under white stars
_________________
EMAIL FROM MY BROTHER
Hearing from you is like being operated on
by a blind doctor
trained in church
by the deaf dead.
_________
There's a light, floaty quality to the first poem, Shay. The word 'grace' comes to mind. The second is just a flat statement of reality, and reading it you get that eternal question: why does it have to be that way?
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