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Morning Journal

she washed my hands with rosewater: empty cathedral:

beach town in winter: snaps above the smoke rings

as the hearts unfurl: last week’s flowers hung

on a doorknob: drying: brittle: the sparks of their petals

on wormwood: in the mirror slow as motes in a window

she said I can’t stay: the thumbprint of her voice

from somewhere deep in the morning’s green-gray sea:

brush fire: breeze in the pines: her bare steps

in a doorway: sand in the linen: sand in my palms:

from Bicycle in A Ransacked City: An ElegyFind more by Andrés Cerpa at the library

Copyright © 2019 Andrés Cerpa
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Alice James Books.

Published in Andrés Cerpa Poems

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.