You have come into and out of my life
like a needle knitting me to the earth.
Here and not here, rising and diving.
Yours is a love that requires
talking to sounds that gather in grass,
holding a bottle by the neck. Why blame you
for the end of summer or its reprisal?
Why march down to the road
and travel it? I don’t know. We must accept
everything. Light seems to exist just for us
and still the mushrooms after the last rain
are all suspicious.
It has taken a long time to accept
the fall of twilight into evening,
my perpetual dinner of roses.
“Archipelago” appeared in 32 Poems and is from Alexandria (Carnegie Mellon University Press, 2014).