If I were to pin my favourite quotes,
this wall might collapse.
Stitched from fragments, and held,
for an instant.
Everything destroyed, Spicer wrote,
must be tossed.
There is always a truth, you wrote,
to such restlessness.
The elegy speaks to an absence
and abrupt. Applies
lyric pressure. She speaks to me
in sentences. Solitude
as capital. Echo, across
these crystalline structures. Poem
as carved diamond, or
a certain uneven panic.
The heart, in whatever language, wants, or
does not care. Incorporate this into what
we have already learned. The water heater
sound like a bird. The furnace
sound like a bird. Everything
sounds like a bird.
The pleasures conflict
from this writing. Loss
is a loss.