“Stitch,” by Rae Armantrout

Read by the author.

 

There’s nothing so lovely
as a prolonged vanishing.

This is true if you mean
sunset in Iceland,

false if it’s
the memory-care facility
by the abandoned shopping mall.

You can’t think a thought
and judge it
all at once

so we invented juggling
and the caesura,

the heartbeat’s stitch
in the ocean of time.

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