Poems from Arcadia
Maybe I never understood that your return was you choosing me; choosing us.
Maybe all I saw was the leaving
-and the leaving...
It was not her too-long pauses,
her anemic crumbling crescendos,
or even the last languid notes of her requiem.
I could not find it in...
A stop-plosive consonant tumbles from your lips;
rubble of an articulated arch pressed your tongue,
to the hard pallet.
It...