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        After Larkin

When I've got nothing to say to you and you've
got nothing to say to me, then I know we've reached
a perfection we've been dreaming of
all our televised lives. It's a white blank
field of no-dreams, down on knees
this pew requires, as I contemplate the hows
and whys of martyrdom and the saintly
vows to christourlord, shepherding
out wolfish urges to skulk and stalk
the princely wares this fine green-bright
day of rest. We are one long fall
in tandem, you and me, glossing
the heavens with our small cries of whee
and whoa. I am cautious mostly. You
too. We've gone deep in this pasture
of what-lies-ahead. We've scrutinized
every blueness: sky, wave crest, diamond,
shard. A comprehensive glass through which
we face one another: partial, self-seen.

Emily Rosko


Volume 67, Number 1

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