Her nerves wrap around a mystery
she doesn’t need to solve
till they become entrapped. Nothing
gets solved. May as well make
like an archaic torso
of a god—lamp lit—
and change your life.
Everyone is a thief
in the dark after hours.
anxiety of influence
Linen
From anxiety to anatomy
of influence, thievery gets defined. Found
beneath invisible matrix lines, each love
letter wears thins till nothing
shows through but the see through
garment of regret. Is that our inheritance?
Can it be something other than
glitter on silk-screened
flowers—daisies or wisteria drive me
up the stucco wall. Nothing precious
about that garden you wear
on your chest—beyond our trembling reach.
Poets Were Reciting in the Month of August
So concerned with giving
credit where laws say
it’s due, she forgets what she intended
to steal—loses
the pearl in its muck.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 