There is nothing of her body he can’t
conjure—texture, heft, taste, or smell.
This is heaven, and this is also hell.
He can dream the way moonlight comes slant
through the window, illuminating breast
and breast, her navel a shadowy pool
he drinks the darkness from, her skin grown cool,
and her lips and her lips and all the rest.
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Conservator’s Statement
Things, stuff, keepsakes, doodads; junk, curios, and conversation pieces; souvenirs, trinkets, paraphernalia, oddball collectibles. Items ineffably indisposable, whatnots and weird effects, worthless and invaluable. Memorabilia, mementos, weird magnets and rigamarole, […]
A Photograph of Philip Levine, on the Brooklyn Promenade, May 2000, Lower Manhattan in the Background
Arthur Lieberman, the cousin in Levine’s poem,turned to watch the day’s last light subsidingover the East River and suffered… what?An attack? a premonition? His son, fallingto the Manhattan streets on […]
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