The Ex­quis­ite Hoax

The Iowa Review - - NEWS -

Sir of the sayable as long as it is sayable

you prom­ise to un­furl a heaven where no one be­lieves us.

“Mine” takes the shape of what is over, stars more civ­i­lized than clear.

Be­fore the fate cas­cade I touch up the blind­stamped let­ter­ing of “Yours.”

What light is to the eye­less we are to the lone­some.

Nei­ther of us can get out of earth’s way.

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