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How often I’ve leafed down Broadway, my face half hidden

& found the night to be another failed suture—

seven miles of heel touching heel, scar cleaning scar,

as the wind frisks my hands for crumbs. I have loved this city

in ways imaginable, learned not to speak when speaking,

to scry its palms. Yet too soon the gulls slit

the borrowed night into a thin blue ether: the blank pages

of a journal forgotten—the middle chapter,

our ghosts. I was safe as a quelled dream in the dark.

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.

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