On What Hangs Around For A Little While
|by Rae Armantrout|
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.