by Rae Armantrout

    If sadness

    is akin¹ to patience，

    we're back！

    Pattern recognition

    was our first response

    to loneliness.

    Here and there were like

    one place.

    But we need to triangulate，

    find someone to show.

    There's a jolt²， quasi-electric，

    when one of our myths

    reverts³ to abstraction.

    Now we all know

    every name's Eurydice，

    briefly⁴ returned

    from blankness

    and the way back

    won't bear scrutiny⁵.

    High voices

    over rapid-pulsing synthesizers

    intone， "without you" ——

    which is soothing⁶.

    We prefer meta-significance：

    the way the clouds exchange

    white scraps⁷

    in glory.

    No more wishes.

    No more bungalows

    behind car-washes

    painted the color of

    swimming pools

上一篇：For the Twentieth Century 下一篇：For Louis Pasteur