A POEM IN WHICH SAND
FIGURES PROMINENTLY AGAIN
I rub my eyes because the backyard
is filled with sand-colored light,
edges blurred. You aren’t here so
I can practice the words, I don’t
care. I don’t care. I don’t care.
Love me, said Love, and each
bare tree spilled its bucket of
shadow, leaves squabbling.
I tried to find you everywhere, in
scratchy snapshots, in music.
This dim haze now sifts sandbanks—
how good you’ve become at not
being here, your body a desert—
sand polishes you in the blaze,
but sand doesn’t burn, does it?
Header Photo by Andrea Boehner