By Gianmarc Manzione
Originally published in The Southern Review 42.3 (2006): 483-484
Especially afternoon’s certain vanishing,
its immunity to human departures,
noon no more mindless than usual today—
a whiff of pulled weeds, a kitchen window
fogged with scents of tarragon and thyme—
who wouldn’t welcome that
vast amnesia? Who isn’t betting
on some eventual adjustment
heralding the end of regret?
Look, even a day’s carriage of leaf-shadows
implies a kind of inconstancy. No weather
tampers with the sure terrain of the future.
No late season falls from trees there.
It’s nothing new— the hour anchored to
an undertow of irretrievability, trees breaking
free of their bodies in the reassembling dark—
resilience of shadows, ambiguous forecasts.