Nate Klug

Not little by little,

as concerto strings
or doctrines like

to disappear,

leaving time
to think. No—skin

pulled taut around

jaw and fierce cheek,
seen from the side

in the sea of the bed:

none now
that was her is there.

Read another poem by Nate Klug in the Kenyon Review Jan/Feb 2016 issue, on sale now!

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