Uptick

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We were sitting there, and   
I made a joke about how   
it doesn’t dovetail: time,   
one minute running out   
faster than the one in front   
it catches up to.   
That way, I said,   
there can be no waste.   
Waste is virtually eliminated.   

To come back for a few hours to   
the present subject, a painting,   
looking like it was seen,   
half turning around, slightly apprehensive,   
but it has to pay attention   
to what’s up ahead: a vision.   
Therefore poetry dissolves in   
brilliant moisture and reads us   
to us.   
A faint notion. Too many words,   
but precious.

Source: Poetry (March 2009)

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This poem originally appeared in the March 2009 issue of Poetry magazine

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Uptick

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