← v7n2, Fall 2008
Poetry · Volume 7, Number 2

Reconcile

The earliest light we know

is out there on the hill this evening, calling to us—

starlight is an ancient lilac, with a talent

for the fragile certainty:

there is a speck

of memory, then I was quiet.

What is true

from everlasting to everlasting:

I found a good place. Then I was quiet.

It’s sacrilege to imagine

how someone should or should not have

loved you, umpteenth time.