“the predictability of drift”
–Susan Howe
He senses her absence along edges,
always out of reach like desire.
He would be there, if she were there;
this brings him a manner of comfort.
Like the Christian God’s promise,
this suffering life ends with life.
Thus patience smothers the day’s hope
beneath a vouchsafed redemption:
easier to turn back, to move inside,
to hide each nonchalant cowardice.
His answers fill with questions, as pitchers
give shape to the shapeless water.
He watches her as she speaks to him,
and wonders where he has gone.
(September 26, 2016)
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