From the Devotions
1.
As if somewhere, away, a door had slammed shut.
—But not metal; not wood.
Or as when something is later remembered only
as something dark in the dream:
torn, bruised, dream-slow
descending, it could be anything—
tiling, clouds,
you again, beautifully consistent, in no
usual or masterable way leaves, a woman’s
shaken-loose throat, shattered
eyes of the seer, palms, ashes, the flesh
instructing; you, silent.
A sky, a sea requires crossing and, like that,
there is a boat or, like that, a plane:
for whom is it this way now, when
as if still did I lie down beside, still
turn to, touch
I can’t, I could not save you?
Carl Phillips
