IV.
In my sleep a garden grew,
a kind I'd never seen before or walked in;
(or so it seemed);
what I had reconciled myself
to losing--the wooden barette from China,
the Salvation Army sweaters I wore in college,
his lean-faced Anglo-Saxon cussedness--
returned to me, as if the memory had been
transported to the ordinary electric-lit
room in which I sleep, the words
I'd grown used to not uttering, love,
so long displaced, a box of letters, vividly present--
like the hum of a power line outside the window...
- Meghan O'Rouke, "Halflife: Poems"
Photo: Tim Walker
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