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I heard it on the radio,
A woman’s voice saying,
I like for you to be
The space far away
Where poetry figures out
Why you are still
But not absent,
Why you can hear
From somewhere
What’s coming next.
But her voice could not touch
What had flown away.
Nor could she kiss
My mouth, though I repeat
What was understood
Each night and each day.
Copyright © 2016 David Biespiel. Used with permission of the author.
It comes out of the language of nothing I recognize
Though it is something in you, at least as I keep
looking at you
And you turn back to me. I ought to have guessed
From the simple order of the tracks that you knew
Without looking what place in the wild night
The animal came from,
and through which of our windows
It has looked into, sometimes with an eye
On our waking, other times on our sleeping