Imagine that the world of the etching
isn’t as small as it seems; it will contain
what you bring with you. See how the
Memory, since the day you drowned, I am water.
I wash over you. In your name, I am blue.
Let me rise and subside along the
Loss does not hit until you are treading a preponderance of pine and you hear it: crows softened by snow. Or until you return