Editors' Pick

The Gospel According to Here

Where the edges of homes run together
an incision of alley just wide enough

for bodies to pass without scraping
the paint off the bricks. A flowerless

plot of raised earth meant for greener
things. If those are strays praying wildly

with their teeth, it’s not to the moon.
I don’t think we’d recognize that god

anymore. The sky’s strung with LED
lights, held together by cords we un-

plug to bring us closer to night.
In other rooms, men & women &

children & love being made as
efficiently as possible before

limbs untangle to fists. Shattered
dishes. Ghosts waiting to be born.

From other rooms, the delicate scent
of cardamom & patience. Of someday.

& such a splendid contrast of flags
Duct taped to every window

that seals up the cracks & helps
keep most of our heat inside.


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