← v16n2, Fall 2017
Poetry · Volume 16, Number 2

Mirrorform: Visionary

I see what’s almost there—

a book-shaped gap in a thought

or the sex in the statesman’s obit,

cracks in the exosphere.

Let rubberneckers stare

at the fur the killer wore,

the flash of flesh at the tear.

I see what’s almost there.