blackbird online journal Spring 2008  Vol. 7  No. 1




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.