The ghosts swarm.
They speak as one
person. Each
loves you. Each
has left something
undone.
•
Did the palo verde
blush yellow
all at once?
Today’s edges
are so sharp
they might cut
anything that moved.
•
The way a lost
word
will come back
unbidden.
You’re not interested
in it now,
only
in knowing
where it’s been.
– Rae Armantrout
Elegy's Overture 