ETCHING
Even the most broken life can be restored to its moments.
— Carolyn Forche
After mistaking a nail for a hand, drawing
I love you in red air, caressing the idea
of memory, a named abscess
humid, gray, flustered. A picture uncompro-
mised by weather, blunt or sharpened instruments,
one word, two words, light, a blue wool coat smelling of
wind and winter trees. Two legs, also woolen,
starch pearl gray, luminescent, bent over side-
ways, over shoes tired and untied.
Draw breath – as if a hand understands what it moves, means.