This is the wilderness
Of evidence: a tangled thought
Becomes a book
On a dresser unread,

Pages stacked in predictable sequence:
Numbers behaving as numbers do,
Promising a future and
Lining up at the door and waiting

Patiently to enter.
You become the connection
Thread to the cat that lost its tail
And subsequently invented tragedy.

That man named Mac is right
When he says a thousand voices say
Live and forget
The rest. Goodnight.

And goodbye. You
With your archangel name.
You with your teardrop beads
Lined up along the thread

Through the eye
Of the needle in the blankstack.
Every thread leads to the death
Day. I lost you. I love you.

How changed we are.
Otherwise no longer exists.
There is only stasis, continually
Granting ceremony to the moment.

- Mary Jo Bang.


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