Saman tlma lit uns berger 

Yorktown 

We danced. You used to dance me to sleep. 
In that house by White River. Where the backyard 
flooded every spring. And you wore a wool hat 
every summer. When a meandering moccasin made 
its way to your back porch. And you would catch it. 
The same way you did that rat in a backroom 
dryer vent. But better than the way you caught 
your mind. Forgetting. Slipping. Forgotten. Gone. 
Just like it never happened. 

16 

La Mome P:iiaf 

If every note 
held comfortable woe 
and tenuous joy 
kept that marvelous tone 
then something transfixing 
must have been lost 
in each unrecordable 
smear of her voice. 

N:iiall