Snow Di­ary

The Iowa Review - - NEWS -

I know what it feels like to be gazed at.

And the tor­ment of be­ing loved.

I can imag­ine my­self fi­nally gone.

Just think: there’s a small death

in­side ev­ery mo­ment.

I can’t re­mem­ber. But there are pho­to­graphs.

Then the film goes blank.

The else­where of death and its white blind­ing salve—

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