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Tanya Grae: Dear Ozy—

June 7, 2020 by PBQ Leave a Comment

I named all my cities for you in this play of civilization,

What You Can’t Know (or How Millennia Collapse to Seconds).

I drove to St. Simons & ate dinner at the same table,

but not the same meal. Oceans feed tears to oysters—

little tombs of mouth & foot. I knelt in the morning tide.

& walked from the King & Prince to the lighthouse,

my ears full of mnemonic song. Even still we fall

through horizon, not unlike a tunnel. Our universe expands

 

like a black balloon, each life on the bow of its curve.

Dimensions intertwine. The world is full in every space.

A broken nautilus unhands the sequence, subsumes

with sand. Form is just a bottle, but what if we are each other’s—

defined by what we fill or what fills us? Unstable rock, tectonic,

 

what city will rest on you?

Filed Under: Issue 100, Poetry, Poetry 100 Tagged With: Tanya Grae

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