Summer 2004 • Vol. XXVI No. 3 PoetryJuly 1, 2004 |

Survivors

The one we loved lay trapped under the tower and we heard tapping, first late at night, then in the silence between sirens, then always in that city half-deserted at the onset of winter. In the factory whose windows blazed with evening— in the immense theater before the curtain rose— in the unmade bed we kept returning to because loneliness shook us like leaves. It is the pulse, love, you said, that maddening relentless code.

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D. Nurkse is the author of ten collections of poetry, most recently A Night in Brooklyn (Knopf, 2012).

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The Present

By D. Nurkse

The one we loved lay trapped under the tower and we heard tapping, first late at night, then in the silence between sirens, then always in that city half-deserted at […]

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