Winter 1995 • Vol. XVII No. 1 PoetryJanuary 1, 1995 |

Moments of Departure

The sense that came about in moments of departure occurs, only now I don't even have to go anywhere. . . . It's like a long-distance runner who suddenly finds himself in the solitude of distance among trees and light and the sight and sounds of friends are way back there. . . . I'm breathing this air that they can't breathe; I'm seeing this ratty monkey in a cheap Mexican circus wearing a red-and-blue-embroidered jacket and it's collecting coins and I can reach out and touch it like they can't. David Wojnarowicz, Close to the Knives    1. A dead, loved woman is speaking to me backwards out of another woman's mouth    Do not let me die    still    needing to be stranger.*    (In the time    of deaths    of mothers    we become    more simply ourselves    for daughter-sign    is mother-sign    reversed) No, this isn't sorrow but a new way of waking    (your body    tim

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