Given away. This is the end of the longest night. We are never certain; often the darkness is all of all of us, but here is the loose end of a spiral we hadn’t even noticed.
I will believe what I see until, between the shadows, the circles turn to crescents, or an upright on the horizon aligns with the blue star and I trust purity and its priests again.
“Explain,” my fear demands as I trip on the curb. My friend steadies me, lays his hand on the crown of my head, “You’re doing the best you can.” I am one thin tongue of fire then, cupped in glass.
Killarney Clary’s fourth book of prose poems, Shadow of a Cloud but No Cloud, was published by the University of Chicago Press. She has received Lannan Foundation and National Endowment for the Arts grants.