If every sorrow located along

a line extending so many miles
in every direction these days

called severe, & every small
upending—another tree come

down & what’s left—nearly
unreadable as everything seems

to become, & today the wall
pulling away from the wall,

& that dulled almost muted
quiet all at once & every street

suddenly empty, turned out,
& each mild noun made into

tumult of verb, perilous, then
the journal of memory a witness.





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