← v17n2, Fall 2018
Poetry · Volume 17, Number 2

Against Memory

it may have been courage

how I banished

my own knowing

dropped it

like a book burning in my hands

it grows somewhere

a circle of thistle seed

sprouting under the feeder

I envied the wicked when I saw

the prosperity

of the wicked

I need

fewer moving parts

an hourglass

has thousands

a sundial has only

the earth

haven’t I always been happiest

when a little simple

when sad and too sleepy

to speak

all of language began

with a single

sound

O—

no

no

it was

listen

it was