Skip to content →


My mother is scared of the world.

She left my father after forty years.

She was like, Happy anniversary, goodbye;

I respect that.

The moon tonight is dazzling, is full

of itself if not quite full.

A man should not love the moon, said Miłosz.

Not exactly. He translated himself

as saying it. A man should not love translation;

there’s so much I can’t know. An hour ago,

marking time with someone I would like to like,

we passed some trees and there were crickets

(crickets!) chirping right off Divisadero.

I touched his hand, and for a cold moment

I was like a child again,

nothing more, nothing less.

from ProprietaryFind it in the library

Copyright © Persea Books 2017
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Persea Books.

Published in Poems Randall Mann

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.