Nostalgia for a World Where We Can Live.

Cover Page -- Title Page -- Copyright Page -- Dedication -- Contents -- Nostalgia for a World Where We Can Live -- What a year looks like: drenched. So soggy here. So much -- No apples on the apple tree this summer, and if there were -- Another late summer early quiet blue-skied morning, my son -- On either end of this year, on either end of every goddamn year, -- When we turn the calendar's page, my little boy looking -- The dark flurry of another morning purred -- This afternoon the sky's making the kind of promises it can -- Days the hours are no more fact than the unbelievable -- Sometimes being here is like -- To scale, yes, days to scale, even when they grow so cluttered -- Just before the blood draw the other morning, I filled in small -- We loved the rush hour most, the cars suit-filled, briefcase-heavy, -- Today, three flights up, with my whole body, I lifted -- Some disasters are given names, others called after -- The truth is I have trouble forgiving most things, although I've never minded -- By rote the body learns nearly everything, after -- It's true. There are places we'd rather be -- Not quite another season, but almost, and on the window ledges, -- How I wish more things I read I misread, like the bodies in the mine -- Because you're still in another time zone disparate things -- The problem is the revolving door, this -- Because I wasn't thinking peninsula -- If there's a joke more complicated than "knock-knock," more -- Too lazy to lip-read in noisy rooms, the other night -- A kind of stutter, that over and -- Down the hall the accordion man turns into a door -- Long before the horse pulls up lame there is the matter -- Back to this wind, up against it even, -- The linens soften, now threadbare, just as I'm waking, small, in this -- When morning was almost unrecognizable as morning.

What the wind kicks up, what the waters trouble, even -- The forecast's calling for flurries tomorrow, and worry -- At the new year, in the dark, I watched time -- The lesson tonight nothing less than -- In this, this snow-brightened light of a near-spring morning, I think of his glass -- How quickly the body, when asked, forgets -- Stay mouthed through -- How quiet every end when it comes, briefest glimpse of a future -- If all the love we'll know is the kind of love -- Because all day the sky held back -- Not only the night -- Notes -- Acknowledgments -- Back Cover.

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Electronic reproduction. Ann Arbor, Michigan : ProQuest Ebook Central, 2024. Available via World Wide Web. Access may be limited to ProQuest Ebook Central affiliated libraries.