Turning to watch you leave,
I see we must always walk toward
other loves, river of heaven
between two office buildings.
Orphaned cloud, fish soup poppling,
book spined in the open palm. Unstoppable light.
I think it is all right.
Or do tonight, garden toad
a speaking stone,
young sound in an old heart.
Annul the self? I float it,
a day lily in my wine. Oblivion?
I love our lives,
keeping me from it.
Source: Poetry (February 2013).
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This poem originally appeared in the February 2013 issue of Poetry magazine
Lisa Russ Spaar's most recent book of poems is Vanitas, Rough (December 2012). A collection of her essays, The Hide-and-Seek Muse: Annotations of Contemporary Poetry, is due out in March 2013. Her awards include a Guggenheim Fellowship, the Weinstein Award for Poetry, the Library of Virginia Award, and a Rona Jaffe Award for Emerging Women Writers. Spaar is a professor at the University of Virginia.
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