So gradually, it seemed, the way
Things pass: the ice cube in the glass
Disappears in a pool of grey;
The bright bud’s stem fades into grass.
We sit in living rooms, observe
The slowing of the walk, the skin
Worn thin, obedient to a curve
The mind can trace from what has been.
Great cities sink, and continents,
Into wide waters that endure.
Stray cats prowl crumbled monuments
We can envision whole and pure.
We mourn in comfort things’ decline,
Not realizing that the end
Will still stop hard. Brother of mine,
You’ve left us nothing time could bend.
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
Art Criticism for Art’s Sake (ft. Michael Clune)
In the latest installment of the ongoing interview series with contributing editor Mark Bauerlein, Michael Clune joins…
A Clean, Well-Lighted Place with Wifi
As waiters glide across the room,espresso steams beside my bookon the small, round table.The low purl of…
The No / The Yes
Nothing terrifies more than the Noyour lover whispers through a closed door:You may die for all I…
