I Shall Be Released weekend-reads

Kevin Young

What we love
      will leave us

or is it
      we leave

what we love,
      I forget—

Today, belly
      full enough

to walk the block
      after all week

too cold
      outside to smile—

I think of you, warm
      in your underground room

reading the book
      of bone. It’s hard going—

your body a dead
      language—

I’ve begun
      to feel, if not

hope then what
      comes just after—

or before—
      Let’s not call it

regret, but
      this weight,

or weightlessness,
      or just

plain waiting.
      The ice wanting

again water.
      The streams of two planes

a cross fading.

I was so busy
      telling you this I forgot

to mention the sky—
      how in the dusk

its steely edges
      have just begun to rust.

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