No mapping
exercise, no
diapason, geometric
shape speaking to me
while I sleep
will bring him back. No
longer in medias res, he
took the wrong detour
and never recovered
his footing.
Poetry
Georgia One Revisited
To confuse sense
of place with your lap, accidental
falls with the truth
as it comes out when
I’m asleep is to reenter
those dreams I forget.
Sculpture Garden
I see a rainbow reflection on the cherry
spoon of its own making—fountain’s
mist. Sun’s been shining
all day. And I know
I can break
my own heart.
epicurns.com
A first floor cremation
urn gallery comes to me
in a dream
where I’m riding east—
a river crosser, muse
lover—lusting for a guardian
angel who can’t be
touched. Live human flesh
before me, he must remain
straight ahead, slightly
elevated—never false.
Gro
For Steve
I believe—I don’t
know when—I believe
I will come to accept the world
without you in it. Not there
yet. Nightly haunting of our nightly haunts
awakens me
to these sad refusals and you
not there.
No More Legend
Conversation
dialogue monologue—mute
power down.
Unnatural Causes
To identify where
it all went wrong, when
isolation became a drug
as potent as anything
ingested, when ingesting
became impossible
is
to pretend to be
some kind of god
with flame-retardant wings.
Road Restless
Between trips, she tires
of the asking trees.
Exhausted by the ones without
brilliantly hued questions, the ones
that taunt with a humming
constant in the wind—home is
not the answer
every time, everywhere.
Vox Teardrop
For Steve
Taken from the vault,
it gets warbled, deeper, slurred
when the batteries inside begin to rot
and seep. Recorded
on the west bank
of the Saint Croix River before I knew
what that meant, our conversation
was my monologue—became yours—then
it just stopped.
Last Night
For Steve
I can’t find you
on the northwest side
of this urban courtyard
without knowing true
north or any other kind
of truth—save you
are too soon gone.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 