after Zagajewski’s “My Favorite Poets,” trans. Clare Cavanagh They wouldn’t have understood this world, probably, those firm believers in the horizon. They caressed
The last home I shared with my mother and siblings in Ventnor City was a sandstone bungalow near the lagoon beside the sewer plant
of Depression Era glass but haven’t mailed it yet. The money sits in my account, breathing at me. What I’ve done, I keep to