Adam Vines and Allen Jih
I saw the water turn into blue glass.
The years were blocks of stacked ice
and now I have to put on his socks, change his diaper.
the erosion from the pontoon boats’ wakes will cease,
The planks on the pier buckle and mildew. The fishing reels
Yesterday, a man was begging for cheese,
I wonder how long a person can dream of nothing.
My arms stiffen—the sky now woven into dark jacquard—
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