The Couriers

Words from a leaf on the shell of a snail?
Tendency as reciprocity etched in shale.

Cider vinegar wrapped in sealskin?
Accept it, so little is genuine.

A box on a meteor compelled by earth?
Lies, emptiness, grief: it’s not a first.

Frost on the dock at Penetanguishene?
Tears from Lake Huron, Erie, and Michigan.

Not a moment to yourself?
Don’t let love put you on a shelf.

A preponderance of errors?
The soft one sucks her rivers.

Love, love, needs no reason.
Yes, yes, yes, is my season.

More Poems by Sina Queyras