Inhalation
July 10, 2011
Co-Winner Academy of American Poets Prize
Published: April 22, 2010
I listen to the unwell
wails of geese flying south.
What is the urgency of birds?
A harpsichord of sorts.
A true account of talking to cosmia.
I cut away the earth.
I dig for Passaic’s grey marbles,
dig for the river we left,
like muscle beneath flesh.
I haul up the tinder box
of burned out pines, all the TVs
in the next apartment flashing,
I collect the windows stuffed up
with popcorn, collect enough sadness
to last through the leap year.
I repeat the river. I repeat
the red brilliance. Your name
is a garland on my tongue.
I repeat the sounds of the geese,
the cedar smell, I repeat, repeat
the wild softness of your collarbone,
the curling ramps in a stadium.
The roadside, your concentration.
I repeat your cigarette, cigarette kindled
carefully by dashboard. I repeat,
please repeat, the end,
the way you look when you come,
repeat.