from “遺 產”
Where can I set this inheritance down?
Maybe every winter was like this, once.
I know every winter was like this once,
the whiteness devised to draw us in.
from “When You Someday Read This—”
I have taken your mouth.
I listened, not carefully enough, spelled it
exactly wrong. Forgive me everything
you thought you could trust me with.
Forgive me: what I’ve forgotten,
what I wasn’t ready to say, what
I never knew. Inside your opening mouth
is a story, and I’m waiting—